


The Camp Evergreen Experiment

by SamanthaStephens



Series: Camp Evergreen [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Coming Out, Coming of Age, Growing Up, M/M, Many firsts, Self realization, Summer Camp AU, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:33:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 75,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaStephens/pseuds/SamanthaStephens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school junior Arthur Miller thinks he might like boys, but he isn't totally sure. He's headed off to be a camp counselor for the summer and sets himself a quest to kiss another guy before coming back home for school in the fall. </p><p>What he doesn't realize is how much a few months at Camp Evergreen will change his life.</p><p>NOW with ABSOLUTELY LOVELY artwork, courtesy of the darling Furoato<br/>Check it out:<br/><a href="http://7daysofpurrfection.tumblr.com/post/55445242419/i-really-like-the-camp-evergreen-experiment-so-i">Kissing Under the Tree</a><br/><a href="http://7daysofpurrfection.tumblr.com/post/55445257605/again-some-doodles-i-made-while-reading-the-camp">A & E Portraits and Eames' Drawing</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before camp: A challenge is made

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a kink meme fill. The changes from the original are pretty minor. 
> 
> For context on the timing: Camp Evergreen has three sessions. Each session a new bunch of campers comes in and start fresh, but the staff remains the same. The first two sessions are a month long and the final one is three weeks. About three-quarters of the way through, each session has a parent's weekend, where families come and visit for a day. In between sessions, the counselors get one night to themselves before the new group of kids arrives. Each chapter will indicate in which session it takes place.

When Arthur gets home from playing tennis at the club Tuesday afternoon there's an envelope from Camp Evergreen waiting for him on the kitchen table. 

His stomach does a little clench-then-flip action, which seems to happen every time he thinks about spending the whole summer working with a bunch of strangers, some of whom were already in _college_ , and will probably treat the junior counselors like a bunch of babies. Not to mention the panicked feeling he gets at the thought of being responsible for a bunch of younger--probably totally spoiled bratty--kids. 

It's best not to even think too closely about the promise he's already made to himself about what needs to happen before end of his increasingly terrifying summer adventure. 

He grabs a Gatorade out of the fridge and heads upstairs, clutching the cream-colored paper so hard that it crinkles and softens in the heat of his hands. Gently closing the door behind him, Arthur crosses the room and perches on the edge of his bed, drawing one leg up under his body. 

Deep breath. 

He doesn't even know what's in here. It could be anything. But judging from the heft of the envelope, he can guess it probably includes cabin assignments and likely information about the other counselors, too. 

He thinks: "The information in here is going to determine whether I have my best summer ever, or--more likely--the most awkward and miserable three months of my young life." 

He's so nervous that he tears the paper right open, without even using the scrimshaw-handled letter opener sitting a few feet away on his desk. (Yes, he's a teenage boy who owns a letter opener. Get over it.) 

Inside is a letter from the camp director, Mr. Saito, officially welcoming him to the Camp Evergreen family. 

"The satisfaction gained from your role in molding the young minds and bodies of your charges will give you a sense of pride that will never be diminished. But we all know the fun of a summer at Evergreen isn't just for the campers. The friendships you'll make as you swim in the crystalline waters of our lake, run through the grass of our emerald playing fields and toast marshmallows around one of our glowing bonfires, will stay with you for the rest of your days. Camp Evergreen is proud to boast a large and active counseling staff alumni network with annual reunions around the country--not to mention our pride in introducing at least 20 people to their future life partners." 

Gulp. Arthur can't help dwelling over that last little bit for a minute. 

First of all, Mr. Saito using a gender neutral term like life partners is probably a good sign, right? Arthur's probably not going to get kicked out or fired if he actually manages to accomplish his goal for the summer. Secondly, it's not like he's looking for a summer romance to last forever. But the very idea that he could meet someone who would set his cold little world on fire, even for a few months, has Arthur's heartbeat picking up in anticipation. 

The thing is, Arthur has decided that this summer, he is going to kiss another boy. 

It's a bit of an experiment, really, and he's not even fully sure what he hopes to accomplish. But he knows that it's something he needs to try at least once. And doing it far away from home, where no word can get back to anyone from school or the tennis team or the student newspaper staff, seems to Arthur like the best course of action. 

Arthur flips to the next page of the packet, which informs him that he's assigned as junior counselor in the Douglas Fir cabin--all of the cabins are apparently named after different evergreen trees--working with senior counselor Yusuf Shankar. 

The third page lists the names and hometowns of all the senior and junior counselors. There are kids coming from all over the country. At least a third of them have little asterisks by their names, indicating that they started out as Evergreen campers before transition to the counseling side. Arthur is surprised to see four kids from England, including his own senior counselor, and one from France. He knew retired-business-mogul-turned-camp-founder Mr. Saito had a great reputation, but he had no idea Camp Evergreen would have such an international draw. 

He leafs through the remaining pages--schedules, maps, rules--and turns back to the staff list. If he goes through with is plan, in all likelihood it's going to be one of these boys that Arthur will kiss before August is over. 

Deep breath. 

He scans the names, trying to picture what each guy might look like, which he knows is completely silly, but can't stop himself from doing anyway. Hmmm ... Tristan Eames. That's definitely the kind of name that makes you wonder about the person attached to it. With a name like that, he has to be at least kind of interesting. Same goes for Dominic Cobb. Arthur pictures a cherubic face, white blonde hair and big blue eyes. Lots of cool-factor potential there, too. He can't really say much of anything about Robert Fischer. With a name like that, he could be as boring as vanilla ice cream. Not like Arthur Miller is much better. If any of the other counselors-to-be out there around the world are playing this same game, they probably wouldn't linger over Arthur's name as a potential flirtation, kiss or hook-up for longer than a couple of seconds. 

It's not like Arthur's never kissed _anyone_. He's sort-of made out with three different girls. It's not a stellar record. But it's not totally shameful either, for someone just 16 years old, especially considering that he has a reputation for being a bit stiff, a tad too serious and not at all carefree. 

And if he's being completely honest with himself, the reputation is definitely at least kind of earned. 

That's basically why he decided to apply for the junior counselor position back in February. He feels like he's too stuck in his long-term school personality, so that even when he wants to break free, everyone--other kids, coaches, teachers, parents--just sort of pushes him back into being good, old, responsible Arthur Miller, who can always be counted on to do everything the right way and never step a toe out of line. 

And if he's being even more honest with himself, this reputation is probably the underlying reason for his summer experiment in the first place. 

See those three girls he's kissed, not one of them had lit his world on fire. None of them had even started enough of a flame to toast one of Camp Director Saito's marshmallows. 

OK it's true that he didn't exactly have feelings for any of them before the kissing started, so that could have had something to do with the lack of a chemical reaction. 

The first, Bonnie Summerton, was during a game of seven-minutes-in-heaven freshman year. At the time, he was mostly relieved to have finally checked the first-kiss item off his mental checklist. It didn't even occur to him that it might be weird that he didn't really want to kiss her again. After all, he hardly knew her. They'd probably exchanged 20 sentences in their entire lives, at least eight of them in the closet during the game. 

The second, Lisa Avery, had sort of drunkenly mauled his mouth when he agreed to be her sober ride home from an end-of-summer party for the club tennis team, right before the start of sophomore year. She had been sloppy, leaving saliva all over his chin, and tasted terrible. He'd kissed her back for about five minutes, just out of some misguided sense of courtesy, before pushing away and walking her to the front door of her parent's house. He's about 85 percent certain that she called him Sheldon when she said goodnight--as in Arthur's rival for the top spot in regional finals, Sheldon Greene--so he didn't exactly feel bad for wiping his mouth as soon as she turned her back. 

The third, and final, kiss had been with Lux Hamilton, on the night of the Spring dance his sophomore year, almost exactly a year ago. He, Lux and a bunch of kids from the school newspaper had gone to the dance as a big group of friends--no dates. It was sort of a tradition for underclassman newspaper staffers, and Arthur was just glad to feel included without actually having to ask anyone, buy a corsage, or participate in any of that nonsense. 

They danced in a big circle and later made fun of the preppy kids who were puking out back on the middle school's lawn. Somewhere in the midst of laughing at the jibes thrown by his sharpest-tongued colleagues, Lux had slipped her fingers into his. It was nice and friendly. He felt a tiny tremor of excitement at the idea that maybe he'd get to kiss her and this time--finally--it would he feel the way the kids did in those silly teen movies he sometimes secretly watched on weekends, all glowing and giddy with arousal. 

The thing was: It didn't feel like that. It was, like the hand holding, nice. No fireworks. No butterflies. No free-falling elevator. Just nice. And it never happened again. 

He was a bit disappointed, but didn't get too worked up about yet another kissing-related failure. He figured he just had to find the right girl and the right moment. No biggie. 

But then a few months ago--after he had already applied for and been accepted to the Camp Evergreen junior counseling job--Arthur had gone to an all-ages concert at the college a little over an hour from his parent's house with a bunch of the newspaper kids, plus his summer mixed doubles partner, to see one of his favorite bands. 

At the show, Lux--thank goodness they weren't awkward with each other after the kissing attempt last year--nudged her now-boyfriend, Ziggy, and pointed out these two slightly older-looking guys who were completely making out during a slow song. No one was mean about it, or said anything nasty about them. They were just sort of fascinated. Two men kissing in public wasn't exactly something that happened, oh _ever_ in their small town. Lux and Ziggy seemed to think it was cosmopolitan--evidence that the sooner they could get out of their backwater town and be exposed to the excitement of college life, the better. Everyone else kind of had a giggle and then ignored it. 

Except for Arthur. At first glance, he felt as if his stomach had dropped 10 feet, like he'd just crested the hill of a roller coaster. There was just something so compelling about the way these two college-aged boys--one tall and wiry with reddish hair, the other shorter with wild black curls and glasses--were so clearly and overwhelmingly lusting for each other. It was like seeing one of those romantic movies play out before his very eyes. 

He couldn't stop sneaking looks. He had trouble focusing on the music. Luckily his classmates didn't notice. Unfortunately the redhead did, lifting his gaze to wink at Arthur while on a brief break from sharing air. Then he tilted his head toward the curly haired one and grinned. Somehow Arthur just knew he was saying: "Aren't I lucky? Maybe someday you can be this lucky, too." 

That night, after seeing everyone safely home, Arthur came up with the plan for his summer experiment. 

He was kind of freaked out by how watching those two guys kiss had made him feel. And he didn't really know what it meant. If he were gay, wouldn't he have realized it by now? That's the kind of thing you probably realize before you're 16, right? 

Maybe he just had never seen people make out up-close before, and it grabbed his attention, he'd thought. OK that definitely was not true, because Weirdo Brenden and his string-bean, greasy haired girlfriend were always making out in the halls at school. Correction: Maybe he'd never seen _attractive_ people make out up-close before. 

On the other hand, maybe the reason none of his three kissing buddies, as he'd come to think of them, had turned his knees to jelly was that he was going about this game entirely wrong. Here he'd been thinking that he didn't have any chemistry with the girls he kissed because he was so uptight and reserved all the time. But maybe he should have been kissing an all-together different set of people, as in a different gender. 

He just didn't know. And he was too scared to find out in a place like his hometown. He just hoped one of the counselors at Camp Evergreen was at least sort of interested in kissing other guys, too.


	2. First session: Camp begins

Arthur is sitting cross-legged in a circle of 30-some counselors, grass tickling his wrists and palms where he leans back on them. 

Luckily they don't have to sport their regulation bright, green cotton shorts until the campers show up tomorrow, and he is able to wear his favorite dark-wash jeans with a crisp polo shirt as he meets everyone else for the first time.

He'd spent the week after the big box of Camp Evergreen attire arrived on his doorstep worrying about whether the shorts will make his legs look too pale or skinny and wondering if there is some way to alter them into a more flattering fit. 

He supposes he'll either find out how to make them work tomorrow morning at breakfast when he sees everyone else in their finery, or else they'll all be in the same ugly-shorted boat together. It might even stop being noticeable after a few days. Maybe. He doubts it.

The older senior counselors have been here for a few days already, helping to get the place in working order. But Arthur and the other high-school-aged junior counselors arrived less than an hour ago on a green-and-white school bus. 

When he had boarded at the train station, hauling an over-sized suitcase full of ugly shorts and ring-necked tee-shirts into the luggage stowaway underneath, it had already been obvious who the "old kids" were from the way the guys high-fived and the girls shrieked and jumped up and down in unison.

Arthur had reminded himself to breathe and relax: He'd be one of the gang soon enough. Hopefully.

And it's not like he had been the only sore thumb sticking out in loneliness at the time. Luckily, a tiny wisp of a girl had asked, semi-ironically, to be his "seat buddy" on the ride up.

"Only if we don't have to hold hands," he'd replied, attempting a joke and instantly wondering if it had gone horribly wrong and made him seem anti-social. Luckily the pixie had laughed, introduced herself as Ari and popped her headphones into her ears.

"I'm not trying to be rude," she'd said. "I just want a few minutes to doze off before we arrive. I get the feeling we're not exactly going to be what you'd call well rested for the rest of the summer."

Arthur had mumbled "good call," back at her, and returned to his well-worn paperback of "Into the Wild," which was one of the handful of books he'd brought as comfort reads in case the going got rough this summer.

He was aware that given the book's subject matter, it wasn't exactly what most people would call "comforting." But something about Krakauer's thorough, well-reasoned approach to researching the tragedy made Arthur feel a sense of peace--as if every life had a fantastic story hiding underneath, if only someone expended the time and effort to dig it up.

Obviously Arthur was a big weird-o, he'd thought to himself. He'd just hoped the rest of the counselors were OK with that fact. Or at least that one or two of them were.

Mr. Saito has just finished his welcome speech. He's now standing off to the side of the circle, chatting with the head counselors before they started telling the group about team bonding, or something like that. 

Arthur and Ari--short for the bizarre name of Ariadne--are sitting next to each other. But she's been occupied with winding bright pink yarn around a knitting needle since Saito finished talking.

On Arthur's other side is a real jockish-looking guy, with a short, almost military style buzz cut. Arthur couldn't get a good look at his face, because he was turned to the far side, stretching his back (using a technique Arthur's tennis coach, Rusty, said never to use for fear of injury). Something about this guy put Arthur in mind of a bully--maybe it was the obvious scrapes on the knuckles of his left hand, the one closest to Arthur.

Trying to subtly scoot a few inches away from the bruiser, Arthur turned back to Ari, planning to tease her about knitting in the summer. But just then the male half of the senior counseling pair clapped his hands to get their attention.

"OK gang, we don't have a lot of time to get to know each other here before the kiddies arrive tomorrow morning--it's gonna be bright and early, let me tell you--so my co-head, Mallorie, and I think it's best if we start out by playing a getting-to-know you game. What do you say?" he asked, brushing his dirty blond hair out of his eyes and squinting into the bright sun.

A bunch of the older kids groaned and rolled their eyes. But even though Arthur was sure he was old enough to be a senior counselor, the tough guy on the right stayed stock still and quiet, apparently finished with is stretches. 

The senior counselor turns out to be Dominic Cobb, he of the second-most-intriguing name on the list. He's not quite the cherubic pretty boy Arthur imagined. But he is handsome, and Arthur was right about the blue eyes. He's also _at least_ 20--way too old to be interested someone who's only 16. Plus, head counselors would probably frown on fraternization with junior counselors, or something. Still, Arthur looks at those thin pursed lips and can sort of imagine what it might feel like to kiss them. File him in the unlikely, but unobjectionable folder, Arthur thinks.

An elbow to the ribs jars Arthur out of his reverie. 

"Are we going to do this or what dude?" Ari asks. 

Right, they're supposed to play three truths and a lie with the people on either side. He's glad to play the first round with Ari, so he can practice his lie before testing it out on the guy who'd probably punch him in the face if he found out that Arthur was imagining what it might be like to kiss Dominic.

"OK you go first," he replies, forcing himself to pay attention.

"Hmmmm lets see," she says, mouth twisting to the left as she contemplates. When she starts talking, she spits out the words in rapid-fire succession. 

"OK, one, I used to wear a back brace when I was younger and got made fun of a lot; two, I'm turning sweet 16 in July, but have still never been kissed; three, I brought my guitar with me to camp, but I've never actually played it in front of anyone but my parents; and four, I skipped a grade in elementary school." 

Arthur mulls over her statements. Well the back brace-related bullying and the never-been-kissed claim go together nicely. But that could be a ploy, using one truth to get him to believe a lie. If she's telling the truth about not having been kissed, then she is almost exactly a year younger than Arthur; he'll turn 17 in August. She's so tiny and fragile looking, he has no problem believing that aspect of the statement. He supposes he could buy the idea that she skipped a grade, too. But it's definitely not a foregone conclusion. He wishes he'd noticed her before boarding the bus this morning. He honestly can't remember whether or not anyone had carried a guitar case. 

"Well," she says, grinning. "Are you going to keep me waiting all day here?"

He feels surprisingly nervous, as if the fate of their could-be friendship hangs on his being able to guess, if not correctly, at least in a way that doesn't offend. He decides to consider the guitar as truth. Even if it is a lie, she'll probably be flattered that he believed it. Girls who play the guitar definitely have a cool factor to them. Same for the grade skipping. She'll know he thinks she's smart if he buys that as the truth. 

It's down to the back brace and the kissing. This is dangerous territory. He doesn't want her to think that he can believe she was teased growing up. But he also doesn't want to act like having worn a back brace is a bad thing. On the other hand, he certainly doesn't want her to think that he sees her as un-kissable. Just because he doesn't plan on doing it himself, doesn't mean that he wants to insult his new possible-friend's attractiveness.

Fuck, this is so hard!

He looks over at her slumped posture and blurts out, "The back brace.You never wore one."

"Busted," she pouts. "How did you guess?" 

"Look at the way you're sitting, young lady," he responds, reaching over to push her shoulders back like his mom always does to his older sister when she's home from college.

"My little brother wears one though, so please don't think I'm some kind of asshole for using a disability, or whatever, for one of my lies. And he does get teased mercilessly. My parents had to send him to a Montessori school, because he was so miserable at the elementary I went to back in the day."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You don't seem the bully type, so it's not your fault." 

Arthur's head unconsciously turns towards the buzz-cut kid at the mention of the word bully. To her credit Ari smiles a bit and lets it pass.

"I don't know if I should be offended that you could tell I've never kissed anyone before," she says, ducking her head ever so slightly. "Do I like give off an aura of dork or something?"

Uh oh. Is she flirting? Crap. He doesn't know. 

For a brief second he considers trying, probably clumsily, to flirt back. Maybe it would be different this time. Or maybe it would result in the same boring kisses that feel like sticking his tongue in a loaf of bread. 

For whatever reason, he is loath to be derailed from his experimental quest. He doesn't examine the feeling too closely, but he knows deep down that he'll regret it if he doesn't at least try to kiss a guy this summer. 

Arthur makes what for him is an outright impulsive decision on how to respond to Ari's possible flirtation.

"Of course not," he says, then adds, "are you ready?"

He lays out his statements in as matter-of-fact a tone as possible. "

One: I'm copy editor for my school newspaper back home. Two: I have an older sister, but secretly wished she were a brother instead for a long time, until she went off to college and I missed her terribly. Three: I was daydreaming about kissing one of the head counselors when you elbowed me earlier. Four: I used to be nationally ranked on the junior tennis circuit."

"Wait seriously, none of those seem like lies to me. Come on dude! This is too hard."

"OK little miss impatient. Remember how you were rushing me earlier? Don't keep me waiting all day, huh?"

He can't help the tiny smirk he sports as she pulls blades of grass out of the ground thinking about his questions. He feels a silly sense of pride in knowing he is so tough to read. He also hopes nervously that Ari will rise to the bait of asking which counselor he wanted to kiss. Or maybe he doesn't.

Deep breath.

"OK, I don't think you have a sister. Or at least not an older one." 

"Ha! You lose," he says, trying hard not to gloat.

"What, no way? Which was the lie? It was the kissing wasn't it? Fuck."

"No, that one was right. I was never a ranked tennis player, although I did come close when I was 12." 

She leans closer, a conspiratorial flash in her brown eyes: "So you know she's French, right? From the city of lights and love? Oh la la!"

"What?"

"Mallorie Bernard, the head counselor you were imagining macking on? Duh." 

"Oh," he replies, feeling a blush creep over his neck and ears. "No that's not the one I was thinking about."

"Oh. ... _Oh_! Well that's something," Ari responds and then immediately asks, "is it a secret?" 

"I don't know," he says truthfully. "It's sort of new. It's just, well, something I'm trying out for the summer."

Why did he just say that? What a stupid response. As if his sexuality were a haircut or a brand of shoes.

"The experimental vibe, I dig it," she says. Arthur can't help rolling his eyes, which earns him another elbow to the ribs. 

Relief washes over him. She took it well and could be an ally in his corner. Plus, she seems pretty funny in a sort of awkward, but endearing, way. Oddly, she reminds him a little bit of Lux. Best not to think about that.

"Hey, what's the holdup over there?" a deep, slightly nasal voice asks from over his shoulder. 

Arthur turns to the other boy, noticing for the first time the dark hints of what look like a tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his Camp Evergreen tee-shirt. Why is this dude wearing camp clothes already if he doesn't have to? Arthur can't decide if it is lucky or unlucky that Buzzcut isn't wearing the hideous shorts. He'd really like to get a glimpse of them on someone before tomorrow. But on the other hand, wearing those voluntarily would definitely be another huge question mark about this guy's personality, or at least his vision.

"Hi. I'm Arthur," the words are crisp and formal as he extends his hand for a shake, trying like hell for a non-nonsense, don't-mess-with-me vibe.

"You can call me 'T'," they other boy mumbles, scowling. 

"Let's get this over with," Arthur responds, frowning back. "OK these are mine: I'm copy editor for my school newspaper back home; I have an older sister, but secretly wished she were a brother instead for a long time; I grew up in a small town in central Pennsylvania; and I used to be nationally ranked on the junior tennis circuit."

"Too easy," the mysteriously monikered 'T' replies without a moment's hesitation. "You weren't no tennis champ. Or at least not that good." 

His attitude is a bit surly and his nasal tones irritate Arthur's ears. He must be from Minnesota or northern Wisconsin--some place like that where they stretch out their vowels too much and say "eh." The irritation goes double for his atrocious grammar.

Arthur just scowls in reply, annoyed that this guy who can't even speak properly could read him like an open book. 

"Well I came pretty close when I was 12," he spits out. "And I'm the co-captain of the varsity squad at school and have gone to state championships two years in a row. Until this summer I've been the star of my club league at home. ... Not that I wouldn't be the star if I weren't there now. I just decided to do this instead for some reason." 

Lord why was he letting this guy make him act so defensive? What does he care what someone who doesn't even have a real first name thinks of his skills on the court?

"Well I look forward to seeing you out there on the court this summer then," 'T' replies, as if he could read Arthur's thoughts. 

Fuck him!

"OK let's hear yours then," Arthur says instead, pouting.

"Sure," 'T' says, looking Arthur straight in they eye, as if in challenge. "I was born in Minneapolis, but grew up since I was 10 in Duluth. I was a star running back in high school, but don't play any sports other than the occasional game of pick-up basketball now that I'm in college, because I lost my scholarship for brawling in a parking lot after a concert last summer. I have a sweetheart whom I'm hoping to make an honest woman out of, as soon as I graduate. The camp I went to as a kid closed down after some sort of financial brouhaha, and I missed it. So I decided to come here as a counselor instead."

Arthur is stumped. They all sound so plausible. The accent fits. The football playing and parking lot brawling certainly fits. He definitely seems like the type of guy to marry his high school sweetheart, knock her up, and live a life of quiet desperation, like something out of an early Springsteen song. The camp one seems totally possible, too, though. This 'T' is definitely the type who grew up going to camp every summer: hoisting the unpopular kid up the flagpole by his underwear, sneaking across the lake to spy on unsuspecting girls, probably getting kicked out for fighting ... That's it. The last one must be the lie. He couldn't be a counselor at his childhood camp, because he was kicked out. 

Arthur smiles with triumph, a glint of something close to anger shines in his eye. Who was this dumb jock who thought he could fool Arthur?

"The last one. The camp," he says, keeping his tone as nonchalant as possible, in contrast to the challenge on his face.

"Wrong." 

"What? No the fuck way."

'T' is hauling himself up from the grass, and for a second Arthur panics that he's actually about to get into a fight--a fight over three truths and a lie. How idiotic. Then he realizes that most of the other counselors are streaming across the lawn to the mess hall for lunch, already finished with the game. 

"They were all wrong," he responds, suddenly speaking with an inexplicable British accent. "I was just taking the piss. No hard feelings, mate."

Arthur's jaw drops and he remains seated on the grass for a few seconds, watching 'T' or whatever the fuck his name was, throw his arm around an Indian-looking guy and tip his head back in uproarious laughter.

What an asshole!


	3. First session: Adjusting to camp life

Arthur is curled on his side in his rickety camp bed, watching the sun filter through the slats of the cabin's shoddy wooden walls. A glance at his runner's watch tells him that the camp's morning bell is five minutes from summoning everyone to breakfast. He sighs and turns to face the ceiling, trying to savor the remaining peace and quiet before the chaos of getting 12 boys up and out the door in time to eat before morning activities start at 7:30. 

Why didn't he choose to stay home this summer again? He could have been sleeping in until 10:00, and wouldn't have had to be at tennis practice until 11:00. He's obviously an idiot.

Except not really, because counter to his fears, so far camp is actually a lot of fun.

OK yes it was a bit of an adjustment at first. And there are members of the staff whom he still doesn't exactly consider friends. But all of the counselors have sort of bonded together by their hard work, exhausting hours and need to blow off steam wherever and whenever the opportunity presented itself. Well at least bonded enough not to argue in front of the campers, or to let those arguments turn into a scene when hanging out together after hours. 

Aaaaannd there goes the bell. 

Suddenly the room is full of groaning campers, creaking beds and the slap of a few brave, bare feet on the floor. 

Arthur rolls out of bed and knocks gently on the door that separates the main cabin area from Yusuf's little room. His senior counselor had stayed out at the shack, still immersed in a game of cards with Dom and motherfucking Tristan Eames when Arthur turned in at Midnight. He was probably hurting right now. 

"Hey Yus!" he says as he opens the door.

"It tastes like something died in my mouth," Yusuf responds, rolling over to face Arthur . "That's the last time I'm staying up half the night drinking warm beer and letting Eames steal all my hard-earned money."

Arthur scrunches his nose, reflecting his dislike of Yusuf's closest friend at camp. Somehow the older boy doesn't seem to mind that his junior counselor holds a grudge against his best buddy.

Arthur was just glad he'd seen them hanging out together that first day, or he would have barrelled into the Douglas Fir Cabin full of complaints about the practical jokester who thought he was so funny to have somehow mind-read Arthur's preconceptions and used them to completely fool him him a stupid little getting-to-know-you game. Oh yeah, real clever, smartass.

In the intervening two weeks, Arthur had pretty much done his best to avoid Eames, and even to avoid calling him by his preferred last name, instead using Tristan or even--if he was feeling annoyed--'T.' (Obnoxiously, this reference to Eames' alter ego just made the senior counselor smirk appreciatively at his own humor, so Authur was trying to give up the habit. It was just so easy to associate irritation with that particular moniker.)

He doesn't really know why Eames's teasing had been so irritating to him. But it had touched off a nerve and he wasn't really ready to let go. He'd never really seen himself as someone who was easily messed with by other kids. The aura of responsibility he carried around back home had prevented any real serious teasing, even from his closest friends. He supposes he just wasn't used to it. 

And he couldn't help wondering--over and over again, if he was honest--what it was about him that had made Eames consider Arthur a target. He'd been irritated at first by the deception, but was later furious when he found out Eames had played a straightforward version of three truths and a lie with the counselor on his opposite side--Daniel Waters.

As luck would have it, the 12-year-old residents of Douglas Fir--nicknamed DFC--were scheduled for arts and crafts today, which meant Arthur would have a whole two hours of watching Eames lead the group in some crazy activity or another. He might even have to participate. 

At Camp Evergreen the senior counselors manned different sports and activity stations, which the junior counselors guided their charges to throughout the day--sometimes merely observing, sometimes helping to instruct, depending on the activity and who was in charge. 

Eames would definitely try to get Arthur to participate, if only to humiliate him in some way. Like last week, when the class was making yarn crafts and he'd forced Arthur to hold up his forearms, while Eames wound skeins and skeins of blindingly orange yarn around them. What horror would today's session hold? At least the kids only had arts and crafts once a week. 

Of course, Eames was also one of two senior counselors in charge of soccer--or football as he forced the campers to say. Luckily his other half on the field--pitch, a tiny Eames-like voice in Arthur's mind insisted--was Dom, who wouldn't allow too many shenanigans to take place during a game.

(Arthur had already figure out that Dom whose fairly kissable lips were always pursing as he squinted at the kids on the field--shouting directions and encouragement in equal parts--had been dating his co-head counselor for four years. They'd been together since the first summer that they had both started working at Camp Evergreen, moving their way up the ladder to the co-head title. It was like James and Lilly Potter, Arthur though, although hopefully without the tragic ending.) 

So far, DFC had never had arts and crafts and soccer on the same day. But it was bound to happen sooner or later.

Yusuf more-or-less successfully roused, Arthur quickly changed into a fresh Camp Evergreen tee-shirt and a pair of the dreaded green shorts. He'd found that cutting a slit up the outside seam on each side made them seem less tapered and awkward. Of course, it caused a lot of loose, hanging threads to break free and dangle down his legs. But it seemed a fair trade-off.

Standing in the slow-moving breakfast line, Arthur waves good morning to Ari ahead of him and shoots a shy, but friendly, smile at Robert Fisher, who is already seated with his cabin at the table closest to the trays of food that are lined up buffet-style outside of the kitchen.

Both Ari and Arthur agree that the super preppy junior counselor for White Spruce Cabin is the best-looking boy at camp. He has a face that is pretty enough to be a girl's, with high cheekbones, bow lips and long eyelashes, not to mention his big blue eyes.

In just two weeks, Arthur has become borderline obsessed with having Robert become his second first kiss, as he's taken to calling this summer quest. He's spent more time thinking about running his index finger over those pink lips, or tangling his hands in Robert's soft-looking brown hair as their lips touch, than he has ever daydreamed about any other person in his life.

Arthur doesn't ever take his fantasy beyond this point. He isn't even sure what he would want, or what would even be in the realm of possibility, or how anything further would even work. His imagination is too scared to think beyond their moistened lips pressing together and that silken hair wrapped around his fingers. But it's enough to keep him awake several nights a week, wondering about what to say and how to act in order to make this daydream even a remote possibility in the real world.

Arthur's pretty sure that Robert isn't gay. But he's quiet and well-mannered, and Arthur kind of hopes that Robert might just be nice enough, and perhaps curious enough, to indulge one or two kisses before shutting the whole thing down.

And, honestly, Arthur is thinks that that would be enough for him. At least for now. He'd have accomplished his self-assigned mission and would, hopefully, have more of an inkling about whether the tingling, butterflies-in-the-stomach sensation he felt while watching two strangers make out at a concert actually meant anything about his own sexuality, or not.

Arthur's sleep-addled brain is wondering whether he should do something more to greet Robert, maybe wave, make a comically tired face, or wink--could Arthur be a winking kind of guy?--when he's knocked off balance by someone lining up a knee with the back of his leg and pushing forward.

Luckily years of tennis footwork drills have given Arthur excellent poise and he recovers as gracefully as possible, then turns to whack Eames on the thigh with his empty tray. 

"Bad touch, jerk," Arthur snarls. "What gives, ' _T_ '?"

The smarmy British bastard actually has the gall to wink at him and say, "you looked like you could do with a little wake-up call, Champ." 

(Ever since Arthur obliterated Yusuf on the tennis court one afternoon during the camper's quiet rest period, Eames has taken to calling him champ, Bjorn and--most horrifyingly of all--Venus. Arthur is more or less perpetually on pins and needles that one of these nicknames might catch on with the other counselors or, God forbid, the campers.)

"Let's save the mental torture until arts and crafts, huh Tristan," Arthur says, aiming for his driest tone. "I don't really want to have to put up with your antics until I'm professionally obligated to." 

"I'm taking that as permission granted to include you in today's activity," Eames says as he--infuriatingly!--ducks through the line and past the swinging doors to the camp's kitchen. 

"Oi Cookie Monster, there had better be enough bacon to go around this morning!" Arthur hears him shout at the camp's cook, Doug, on whom Eames has also bestowed a less-than-charming nickname.

Arthur is still irritated about Eames' morning antics when he troops his campers into the arts and crafts hut after lunch. Just because the roguish Brit is arguably the camp's most popular counselor--certainly among the campers anyway--doesn't mean that he gets a free pass on teasing and tormenting anyone he feels like.

Arthur knows enough about Eames to realize that he isn't trying to be mean, per se. Arthur doesn't feel bullied or anything like that. Eames just seems to think that the best way to relate to other people is to constantly tease and torment them and expects that they should laugh and play along with all of his little games. 

Arthur knows Eames isn't a bad person and he doesn't actually hate him. He just feels irked by the older boy's seemingly infinite reserve of cheeky charm and his ability to get away with absolutely all of his little schemes--whether they involve white lies during introductory games, fleecing everyone else at the shack's poker table, or sneaking extra bacon out of the kitchen at breakfast.

On the other hand, Ari, who loves to break out her guitar and sing old songs from when her parents were their age, is also overwhelmingly popular. And he doesn't hold that against her in the slightest. In fact, he's happy for her. 

She finally got that first kiss, and the second and third ones as well. He likes to tease her that by the summer, she'll have kissed every male counselor in the whole camp except for him. 

And hopefully except for Robert Fisher as well, he thinks secretly to himself. Even though he and Ari agreed that between the two of them, someone should taste those delicious lips, he's ashamed of the fact that he really doesn't like the idea of her succeeding in this endeavor. 

OK maybe he's the tiniest bit jealous that in just two weeks she's already kissed as many people as he has in his entire high school career, and she seems to be getting a whole lot more out of the experiences, too, from the way she recounts them. (Ari's fond of saying that while a gentleman might not kiss and tell, she's hardly a lady and, anyway, the same rules don't apply.)

He feels bad about it. Ari is by far Arthur's closest friend at camp and he knows how much this summer of exploration means to her. But deep inside his gut, he harbors the tiniest bit of resentment.

They'd talked about their mutual quests (Ari's already fulfilled) a few nights earlier, when they were stuck with the responsibility of patrolling the cabin area at night, rather than hanging out at the counselor's shack in the woods with everyone else. Saito agreed to look the other way about what they got up to at night, in exchange for two counselors always remaining in the cabin area, alert for potential problems. 

"It's just so much easier to flirt with the boys here," she said. "At home everyone has, like, 10 years worth of background knowledge and preconceived ideas about everyone else. I think guys just still think of me as that little goodie-two-shoes sixth grader who never wanted to break any rules and cried during sex ed class."

Arthur snorted softly, "You cried? Seriously?"

"Please don't tell anyone. I was just so overwhelmed with awkwardness about the whole situation. I kind of lost control a little. Now I think guys at my school think I want to be a nun or something."

They circled the cabins silently for a few minutes.

"Anyway, I'm just saying that at home I feel like this geeky, stuck-up, prude and now suddenly I come here and am able to just act however I want without the weight of all these expectations. It's really freeing. You should think of it that way, too."

"I do. Believe me. I would never have had the balls to even tell a single soul that I might like guys and I told you right off the bat when we'd known each other for approximately 45 minutes. But that doesn't mean it's really the same thing. I mean, I don't even really know what I want, if I'm being honest with myself. And even if I did, acting on it could get me punched in the face or mocked mercilessly for the rest of the summer."

"I really don't think the kids here are like that--the counselors I mean. Your 12 year olds might be a handful if they found out. But there is no reason they'd ever have to know. Seriously, who would possibly give you a hard time?"

"I dunno, Eames maybe."

"No way. He's going to art school in the fall. He's definitely not homophobic." 

"Yeah, but he'd probably find a way to tease me about it in a way that was simultaneously good-natured and blameless, but still completely aggravating and disrespectful."

They had grown quiet again as they completed a loop of the cabins and plopped down on the stone bench next to the flagpole. Arthur tilted his head back and looked at the stars. 

Ari had broken the silence.

"Do you think Eames might be just like us, trying on a new part of his personality that he can't comfortably express at home? Maybe he's really shy in his real life?"

In spite of himself, Arthur was taken aback for a moment. But then he recovered and said: "There's no fucking way. He practically oozes self confidence. He can't possibly have just picked that up overnight. It's just not possible to transition that quickly and thoroughly."

"Hmmm ... maybe," she responded.

Arthur considered it later that night, after his patrolling duties were done and he tried to fall asleep for once without picturing about Robert Fisher's beautiful floating behind his closed eyelids.

But now, sitting in the back of the arts and crafts cabin while Eames leans silhouetted in the doorway like the hero of an old detective movie, Arthur can't believe that the other boy has suffered even a second of self doubt in his entire life. 

"Are we all here?" Eames asks the 12 year olds of DFC and their corresponding girls cabin, Blue Fir, grinning broadly and wearing what Arthur calls his "teacher face."

The kids adore Eames so much that some of them actually cheer in response. One girl in the front is gazing at Eames with an utterly enraptured expression on her face, not able to hide her schoolgirl crush.

"All right, we've got a bit of a special treat today, yeah," he drawls, grinning around the room. "I know a lot of your parental types are coming this Saturday for the official visiting day, so I've decided we're going to show off a bit for them with some self portraits,"

He walks to the front of the room and grabs on over-sized folder made of taped-together bits of construction paper and covered with stickers. 

"Now in my own free time, I've sat down and created these pictures of each of you. Slaved away I did" he says, handing out two-foot-tall cutouts resembling boys and girls in shorts and tee-shirts. "Now these figures are all totally blanks, right, so what I want you to do is fill them in with drawings or paintings or collages or stickers or whatever you think will best show off who you are inside, yeah." 

Arthur notices that although there are no details on the clothing, each paper figure includes a drawing of the child's face that actually looks like each of the campers. And the each figure's hair is cut out in exactly the right shape and the strands are sketched out in basic detail with the appropriate color. 

Arthur realizes that Eames must have spent a long time doing this, especially if all of the cabins in the whole camp are doing the same project in advance of parent's weekend. This must be why he's been MIA during quiet rest all week while the other counselors played games or swam and the campers chilled out in their bunks, supposedly napping or writing letters before dinner.

In spite of his earlier frustration, Arthur can't help being impressed by Eames's dedication to this job. He knows that when an entire camp's worth of paper children are lined up on display it will look fantastic and definitely wow the parents. 

Mal had told Arthur and Ari that some camper's parents brought presents or treats for their kid's favorite counselors. He was willing to bet real money that Eames would come away with a sizable haul on Saturday.

Eames makes his way to the back of the hut, handing out paper children. Then he pauses in front of Arthur, eyes sparkling and a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He hands Arthur a paper figurine with  
brown curly hair. 

"Seriously?" Arthur asks, eyebrows shooting to his hairline and a frown playing on his lips. "Is it really necessary for me to make one, too?"

"I did warn you this morning that I officially was considering you a voluntary participant," Eames responds, smiling in earnest now. "Anyway, think of the example you're going to be setting for your charges if you don't participate."

Eames drops his voice and inflects it with mock horror.

"What will their parents think if the counselor in charge of their children's summer of arcadian delight is a no-fun stick in the mud who refuses to join in on art projects? They're paying good money to ensure that their children have access to very best in wholesome youthful entertainment and activities. Don't you think that participating is the least you can do to ensure that they're getting value for their dollars?"

Eames is back to smirking now, and in spite of the triumphant look in his eyes, Arthur feels that he has no choice but to snatch the paper figure out of the art counselor's hands. 

Eames purposefully strides to the front of the room. 

"Now I really don't want you to hold back when it comes to expressing yourselves today," he tells the campers. "Take a look at the self portrait I made earlier. You are totally free to do whatever you want, it doesn't have to actually look like you on the outside. Just fill in the body with whatever you see when you close your eyes and look inside your own mind."

Eames holds up his own figure, which is covered in rainbow's worth of colors arrayed across what looks like a paisley pattern on his arms and torso and plaid on his legs and feet. His hands are comprised of magazine cutouts of various letters, although as far as Arthur can tell, they don't actually spell anything. In contrast, Eames' portrait's face and hair are an astoundingly accurate depiction of how he looks in real life. For the first time, Arthur can see that Eames is a serious art student, or will be when he starts college in the fall.

He's softens his stance of Eames' cheekiness once again. This whole afternoon is apparently going to be a roller coaster of appreciation and annoyance about the other boy.

Seconds later, he looks down at his figure to see that its face features a brow that's wrinkled in doubt and a mouth that's turning down in a slightly sneering frown. 

His own mouth drops open in surprise and he glances up at Eames. The bastard has the gall to wink at Arthur before bending down to help one of the campers apply glitter to her figure.

Frustration once again bubbles to the surface of Arthur's reeling mind. Damn that Eames!


	4. First session: The war, part I

"Goddammit," Arthur curses and runs his hands through his hair for approximately the hundredth time that night. He pulls the door of Yew cabin shut behind him, shouting over his shoulder: "If I have to come back here again tonight, I'm bringing Mr. Saito with me and you'll all be very sorry!"

Under his breath he mumbles, "Christ, I sound like my fucking dad. I can't believe these children have brought me from teenager to middle aged in one hellish night."

"I didn't really believe Cobb when he said the kids would definitely act up," Robert says, a glum expression marring his fine features. 

"Yeah well, they're full of contraband candy smuggled in by family members, who spent all day riling them up and then ditched out, leaving us to cope with the gruesome aftermath," Arthur replies. "Also, we weren't able to physically wear them out with hours of sports and swimming like we usually do. I finally understand why Saito insists on this early-to-rise lifestyle and Cobb makes us jog everywhere between activities. It's the only way to keep chaos from overtaking the entire property."

"I guess," Robert says, features nearly forming into a proper pout. "Still, I'll be glad when tonight is over. Do you think they'll calm down tomorrow, or is this whole last week going to be a nightmare?"

"Who knows. Maybe they'll exhaust themselves tonight, giving us at least one day of reprieve before end-of-their-session activities start up."

"Sometimes I don't know why I took this job," Robert says, sounding so devastated that Arthur can't tell if he's joking or serious. Occasionally he imagines Robert as a sort of damsel in distress who isn't fully able to deal with the borderline-anarchy of camp life.

"Le sigh. Woe is us," Arthur responds, opting for a mocking dramatic tone.

Robert smiles genuinely, his bow lips parting over his perfect, white teeth, and Arthur's stomach swoops. He racks his brain for a follow-up, but it appears to have gone blank. 

Why can't he think of anything else cool or funny to say?

Luckily Robert changes the subject without sensing Arthur's impending conversational anxiety attack. 

"So do you think you'll play tennis in college? You're really good. I bet you could."

The tension building in Arthur's shoulders and stomach muscles relax. He can talk about tennis for hours, even to someone as mind-numbingly beautiful as Robert Fischer. This is perfect. He only needs half of a functioning brain to fake his way through this now.

They still haven't played against each other, but Arthur saw a few minutes of the Robert in a match against Cobb. He was decent--probably Arthur's best shot of a challenging game this summer.

"Honestly, I don't know," he responds. "I've got to have a long talk with my coach about it when I get back. I love the game and think I could maybe at least walk on to some teams, if not get recruited--fingers crossed. But I'm planning to study math or engineering, and I know the coursework is going to be a total beast. I've got to confess that I am a little worried about the workload involved in being a college-level scholar athlete."

Arthur doesn't normally open up to people about his anxiety over what comes after high school. But he figures that if he's going to try to get Robert in the frame of mind to let Arthur kiss him, then he's got to try to be as forthcoming as possible. Maybe it doesn't make any sense, but his instinct tells him to be honest and he follows it.

"I bet the professors would work around your playing schedule, don't you think?" 

"Yeah but its more than that. It's a whole lifestyle thing. I already devote a huge percentage of my time to training, but it's just a drop in the bucket compared to what it would be at a major university. That's part of why I dropped out of pursuing the junior national ranking when I was younger. I just couldn't sacrifice having a normal life." 

("Not that I'm really spending my days as typical Joe Teenager anyway," Arthur thinks to himself but doesn't say out loud. "I study for hours every night; I've never had a girlfriend; I don't own a car that I spend hours obsessing over like a lover; I keep my room neat as a pin; and I own a goddamn letter opener. Basically, I epically fail at stereotypical teen-dom. If they made a movie of my life, the audience would fall asleep.")

"On the other hand, being a college-level athlete would be a real resume builder and would probably help you network with alumni who are potential employers," Robert replies in a matter-of-fact tone. 

"Who are you?" Arthur asks, gently teasing. "I thought I was practical and responsible for a kid. But you're using words like resume builder? Are you a narc, because if so, you're really wasting your time on me."

"It's my dad. He's always saying that I'm never too young to think about my career," if possible, Robert sounds even more downcast than he has all night. "He's very involved with following the sports teams from all of his former schools, and he always says he likes to hire people with the minds of scholars and the discipline of Olympians. He's very dramatic in his proclamations."

Robert pauses for a moment and then adds, "I know he's disappointed that I haven't seriously pursued any athletics. I tried wrestling when I was younger, but it wasn't that much fun."

"You're pretty good on the court," Arthur says, smiling encouragingly.

(Meanwhile, his brain is shouting at him: "He confided in you! Robert Fucking Fischer confided in you. You, Arthur Miller, are Robert Fischer's _confidant_! Maybe, maybe, maybe this can actually happen. Please, please, please don't screw it up.")

"We should play sometime. I bet you could give me a run for my money," Arthur says outloud. 

"Doubtful. But sure; it sounds fun. I'm used to playing every day at my at my family's club most summers. And the rest of these guys aren't much competition, even for my weak ass. You must be bored stiff. I saw how badly you whupped Yusuf and that Daniel guy. Just don't go easy on me."

Arthur's pretty sure his brain faints dead away at that remark. 

For the second time in ten minutes, Arthur is saved from standing in silence like a drooling, brainless zombie when Ari strides up cursing the Blue Fir girls. 

"There are feathers everywhere, every-fucking-where. I hate those little bitches. Hate them. Seriously."

"Tell me again why we let their parents come visit?" Arthur says, utilizing her anger for conversational recovery. 

"Tell me again why only the junior counselors are out here busting their balls keeping these kids in check, while the senior counselors are back at the shack feasting on the mountain of homemade cookies and brownies that parents left at the art hut for Eames and for Mal at the drama centre?" 

Arthur notices Robert blush slightly at Ari's use of the word "balls," and can't decide if the boy's shyness around girls who swear is good or bad for his cause. 

As Ari simmers and Robert squints at her with a confused expression, Arthur takes a second to breath and collect his thoughts. 

He feels strangely energized. 

Maybe it's knowing he's Robert Fischer's confidant. Maybe it's seeing his blushing face shining in the darkness. Maybe it's hearing Ari all riled up about the senior counselors. Or maybe it's that the campers aren't the only ones to be over-excited by not spending the day running back-and-forth from dawn 'til dusk and by receiving double helpings of dessert with dinner. 

"What if we got them back?" he says, letting a conspiratorial note drop into his voice. "Let's play a prank on them." 

Ari's face lights up like a beacon. The astronauts on the space station could probably see it. She immediately starts jumping up and down like one of the hyperactive eight year olds that Arthur just yelled at in Yew cabin. 

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

"Calm down, OK," he instructs, tapping Ari's shoulder. "What should we do?"

He feels like he's already expended his reserves of creativity just coming up with the idea in the first place. Ari should take over the brainstorming responsibility now.

"What if we get fired or something?" Robert asks, eyes shifting to the side in worry. 

"We won't," Ari says, with more confidence than Arthur feels. 

He's pretty sure they won't get in troube with Saito, or at worst will receive a sharp reprimand. But there are other kinds of trouble to bring down on tehir heads. There will most certainly be some form of hell to pay from the senior counselors. And it might be a very painful payment, indeed.

"I don't care if we get it trouble," he responds. "It will be so worth it."

"Let's cover their mattresses and pillows with shaving cream," Ari says, eyes shining in the darkness. For a split second, Arthur sees why Daniel and Zach and Nash all practically lined up to kiss her. 

"They'll just make us wash the sheets," Arthur responds. "Let's move all their mattresses and pillows down to the docks," he offers instead.

"That's a great thought, but we'd definitely need accomplices," she says. "What do you think Robert? I know they must pull pranks at your fancy prep school."

"Yeah, they do, but I'm a day student, so I'm not really involved," he says, frowning. "Also, a lot of them are really mean and involve things like peeing on someone's mattress, or in their closets, _peeing or worse_." 

"Oh my fucking god!" Ari screeches.

"Shhhh!" both boys reply, Arthur reaching out to tug her arm in warning. 

Arthur can't help but be a little surprised by how Robert seems shy to say the word "pee" in front of Ari and can't even bring up the other thing he's clearly referring to. He must not spend a lot of time around girls since he goes to an all-boys school. Arthur considers it a point in his favor.

"What if we tried to convince them that something had happened to one of the campers?" Robert asks. 

"No," Arthur is firm. "That could actually result in us getting in trouble and isn't really very funny." 

He feels bad for rejecting Robert's idea so thoroughly, but it really was horrible and could potentially spiral way out of control before they could reveal that it was a prank.

He finds his mind turning to Eames, on whom he's softened again after seeing the four-wall display of paper campers that the art counselor had arranged beautifully in his little hut. Eames would definitely know how to pull a great prank. Arthur has no doubt in his mind about it: Eames is the one to impress here, and he's the one who is going to devise the retribution plan.

Arthur thinks that they need to strike a delicate balance between a prank that's good enough to make the older counselors laugh in spite of themselves, but gentle enough not to cause serious reprocussions. 

"What would Eames do?" he mumbles, not even realizing that he's speaking out loud at first. 

"Huh?" Ari responds.

Arthur holds up a finger, silencing her as an idea dawns on him. She makes a lip-zipping motion and stands attentive, while Robert shifts on his feet uncomfortably. 

"I've got it. But we'll need to enlist all of the junior counselors. Let's start a staff war!" Arthur says in a very loud stage whisper.

"Hells yeah!" Ari responds. "Viva la revolucion!"

It takes some time to round up the junior counseling staff, who are spread throughout the grounds, tamping down the camper's sugar-fueled antics. And then it takes a little bit more work to convince them all of his plan--especially Nash. Ari has to give him puppy dog eyes and wheedle and pout, but he finally comes around to the idea.

Thirty minutes later the junior counselors disperse to "borrow" their senior counselor's shoes.

Saito has a strict ban on sandals or any other non-sneaker footwear during operational hours. He says it is to prevent injury. The only exceptions are while walking to and from the showers, and after hours when the counselors have the place to themselves.

They even have to wear sneakers to and from the lake for swimming. As a result, everyone carefully lines their shoes up on the dock, avoiding the narrow strip of sand that forms a small beach on the shore. Otherwise, they'd be running around all day with grains of sand stuck in their sneakers.

This is what gave Arthur the idea. Eames is so in love with his vintage sneakers that he always places his as far from both the sand and the water as possible in a thus-far successful attempt to prevent damage.

Arthur didn't know why on earth Eames would have brought such apparently precious footwear to a summer camp, but he supposes that everyone is vain about something. It's just weird to see such a trait in the art counselor, who wears the ugly shorts without shame and doesn't even seem to own a hairbrush. Now that his buzz cut is growing out, he seems to just comb his hands through it after a shower, and let it dry like that, no matter which direction the strands are pointing.

This is incomprehensible to Arthur, who secretly sculpts his loose curls with an imported anti-frizzing creme that he keeps hidden way at the bottom of his cabin cubby. He'd tried to leave it at home, but couldn't face the idea of a whole summer of bad hair. Not that he would ever admit to it if confronted. He'd probably try to pin it on one of the campers. He always has to wait until absolutely everyone else has left the bathroom to slip the tube out of the waistband of his shorts. Once he even had to apply it while sitting in one of the stalls on top of the closed toilet lid.

Arthur stands outside the window of Yusuf's little private closet of a room. Slowly, he eases the screen away from the frame, just wide enough to push himself up on the ledge and somersault inside. He pauses, making sure that the quiet thump of his back making contact with the floor didn't wake any of the campers in the next room. Then crawls across the ground to where Yusuf left his shoes on next to the door.

He feels much prouder of himself than he really should over this little scheme. The Arthur everyone respects and trusts at home would never start a prank war. He'd probably be the one trying to stop his teammates or co-editors from undertaking such a rash endeavor.

"I am an ass-kicking, mischief-making, dry-witted, fun-loving guy." He thinks to himself. "Now let's just add sexy kissing-type guy to that and we'll be in business." He pauses for a minute and decides to add "tremendous dork," to the list.

After gathering on the tiny beach a few minutes later, the junior counselors argue over how to bury the shoes. Should they dig one big pit and put them all in there, or bury each pair individually. In the end, Robert pipes up and convinces them that it will be much faster to bury each pair on its own.

"Even when they find one pair, they'll still have to dig up the rest and sort out which ones belong to which person," Ari says.

Arthur thinks once again of Eames, this time digging through the sand looking for his precious "trainers."

"Let's bury mismatched pairs," Arthur adds, doing a mental fist pump at his his own cunning. 

"And then go get some motherfucking brownies!" Ari adds, putting her hands up in a victory "V." 

She grins at him with a full, open mouth, obviously impressed with both him and with herself. He responds by slinging his arm around her raised shoulder and bumping their hips together. He glances over at Robert, who is actually smiling, too, for once, and gives him a sly thumbs up. Robert doesn't seem to see it in the dark, unfortunately, although he does keep smiling softly in their direction.

Everyone grabs two shoes and sets about digging holes in the sand shallow enough to be easy to create, but deep enough to fully cover the shoes.

Arthur looks up and sees Eames' junior counselor, Patrick, standing off to the side holding both of his senior counselor's vintage Adidas and frowning.

Arthur walks over.

"What's up?"

"I can't go through with it. He loves these shoes more than anything."

Arthur sighs.

He imagines Eames moping around for the rest of the summer over a pair of ruined shoes. He also imagines Eames getting angry and starting a fight with either Patrick or himself. Arthur may know Eames well enough by now to know that he is more of a goofy art geek than a true bruiser, in but he's still built like a tank and Arthur certainly wouldn't want to face him.

Oddly it's the image of Eames moping image that convinces Arthur, not the fear of them getting into a fight.

He reaches into his back pocket where there's a gallon-sized Ziploc bag containing cherry bombs that he'd confiscated earlier that evening.

"Give me the shoes and hold out your hands," he tells Patrick. 

He pours the pyrotechnics out into Patrick's cupped palms and seals the shoes in the bag. Surreptitiously he and Patrick bury them, probably a little more shallowly than needed, but he doesn't want to get called out for favoritism, especially considering this whole thing was his idea.


	5. First session: The war, part II

Not surprisingly, the next morning is a bit chaotic. 

Arthur makes sure he's up before the bell and busy herding the boys through their morning routine by the time his senior counselor usually rises, so that he doesn't have time to laugh or smirk when he hears Yusuf grumbling about his shoes in the next room.

"Bloody hell have you seen my trainers?" Yusuf pops his head out to ask, just as Arthur is about to troop the boys up to breakfast.

Arthur shrugs, then lowers his voice, "did you wear them down to the ... you know... last night?"

Even thought the counselors shack is an open secret, they're not supposed to discuss it in front of the campers--Cobb's orders.

"You start building this place up in their minds mythologically and they'll be sneaking out into the woods every night trying to find us," he'd said.

Yusuf frowns and closes his eyes, apparently trying to remember the night before.

"I don't think so," he responds. "I never have before. I don't know why I would have."

Arthur turns and walks into Yusuf's room, his mind repeating "stay calm, stay cool, don't show anything on your face" in a loop over and over. He knows he probably looks constipated or super tense, but better that than suspicious. He kneels down to peak under the rickety camp bed.

"I don't see them, man."

"Hey, you stop!" Yusuf shouts as the last camper walks out the door, then strides out to where the rest are waiting on the tiny porch. "Did you little wankers steal my shoes last night?"

Arthur feels flooded with relief when a few of the campers giggle, making them look guilty as fucking sin, even if it's only amusement at seeing an authority figure caught unawares.

"Seriously guys," Arthur says in his most authoritative tone, the one he reserves for guidance counselors and friends of his parents. "I know everyone was a bit worked up last night, but let's let this go now, huh?"

At this point half of the boys are falling over themselves with laughter. The other half are staring wide-eyed at Arthur and Yusuf, a picture of confused innocence.

"I'm going to make you run those whatzits--what's that thing you made them do the first week Arthur?"

"Suicides."

"Suicides then, yeah. I'm going to make you run them right after breakfast, with full stomachs, if you don't fess up right the hell now." Yusuf says, getting angry.

"Come on now boys," Arthur says, playing the good cop, even though he knows he's the only guilty one here (or at least the only one guilty in this particular scheme). "Let's come clean and we can have a nice suicide-free day."

It wasn't the right thing to say.

All but one of the boys double over in laughter, infecting each other with their mirth.

"Ha ha, bloody ha," Yusuf says, calm again in the face of this exhaustion-induced chaos. "Come on then, let's off to breakfast. Suicides on the football pitch in exactly 25 minutes."

Their amusement fades and 12 long faces trudge up the hill to eat.

Naturally, the spell of mystery is broken before they even arrive.

Yusuf looks over at the group of 11-year-old boys from the cabin next door--lead by an also-shoeless Jacob Mason--and pauses to discuss this now-apparently wider-reaching stunt. Arthur takes the moment to hustle the campers up to breakfast.

In the mess hall, they find borderline anarchy.

Apparently, one of the other junior counselors has already given up the ghost that the kids aren't responsible and Cobb is looking fit to explode, standing uncomfortably close to Dan Waters.

Arthur is suddenly overcome with a mixture of guilt and defiance. Guilt that it looks like Dan is about to bear the brunt of Cobb's wrath for something that was Arthur's idea. Defiance that Cobb thinks he can treat one of his fellow employees so poorly. Yes they're junior counselors and they're younger. But they're not campers and Saito, not Cobb, is their real boss.

Before he can change his mind, Arthur jogs over to the scene of the altercation and says, "leave him alone Cobb. He doesn't deserve to be targeted for what is obviously a group effort."

"You don't have any right to tell me to calm down," Dom rounds on him. "This whole morning is down the toilet. How are we supposed to enforce any discipline in the campers now, when we can't even keep ourselves under control?"

"It's just a silly prank," Arthur responds, keeping his voice calm, but he knows his eyes are flashing with anger. "No one got hurt. It's all part of the camp experience, right?"

"Excuse me, but last I checked, it wasn't your job to determine what is and isn't part of the camp experience," Dom is pointing his finger in Arthur's face face, his own slowly turning magenta. "Your job is to keep these campers moving through their day as smoothly as possible and it looks like you-- _all of you_ \--have failed miserably at that."

Arthur is on the verge of losing control. He hasn't gotten into a physical fight since fourth grade, but he's seconds away from punching Dom in the face right now, even if it could mean being sent home for the rest of the summer.

Luckily Ari chooses that moment to appear at his side.

"Lay off, Cobb," she says in a tone that sounds detached and mocking, but Arthur knows could turn mean any second. "It's just a harmless prank and it's not Arthur's fault that you can't take a joke."

Cob's mouth opens, as if to shout at Ari. But he ends up just standing there dumbfounded, looking like a fish out of water, grasping for air.

Ari puts her arm around Arthur's shoulder and guides him toward the breakfast line, where his own campers are laughing with glee at the chaos around them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Eames--who decided to combat the loss of his "trainers" by sporting bright-green galoshes--watching the two of them quietly from the corner of the room.

Arthur fears that the art counselor can see right through them, knows that they were the ringleaders last night and is already halfway through some sort of devious revenge plot.

For the next three days, Arthur is on pins and needles. He knows the senior counselors will retaliate. He doesn't understand what's taking them so long. Ari keeps telling him that the delay is psychological warfare, designed to make them crazy. He knows she's right, but can't help jumping at every little unexpected sound and sudden movement.

Cobb hasn't outright banned the junior counselors from the shack. But they've all been avoiding it out of a combination of a fear of retribution and a desire to prevent an altercation--even a verbal one. Instead they've been gathering on the mess hall's narrow porch, sitting on the empty boxes and crates stacked outside.

It isn't as fun as everyone being together, and they certainly can't sneak illicit alcohol or cigarettes so close to the cabins. (Not that Arthur would ever smoke, but he appreciates the tension relief that a nicotine fix provides for some of his fellow junior counselors and notices how much shorter tempers are these days.)

Arthur knows that they won't be able to end this little separation until the senior counselors have exacted their retribution--either that or until they come clean that this exile is their form of retribution and invite the junior counselors back into the fold.

Right up until Wednesday night, Arthur remains certain that they will be struck with a counter-prank before the session ends early Saturday morning. But it's seeming more and more likely that they are either being punished through exclusion, or that the response will wait until they have the place to themselves for a day before the second session of campers arrives Sunday. Perhaps Cobb really is serious about not setting a bad example for their charges.

Arthur sleeps right through the morning bell on Thursday. He wakes to a semi-circle of 12-year-old faces looking down at him and giggling.

His stomach seizes up. What has been done to him? How embarrassing is this situation going to be for him? What the fuck is going on?

Deep breath.

He sits up on his elbows and sees Yusuf leaning in his doorway with a surprisingly friendly smile on his face.

"Doesn't it feel better to know it's all over and done with now?" he asks.

"That depends, what the hell did you do to me?"

"Oh it wasn't me who did the doing, but to answer your question, you might want to take a look at a mirror."

Immediately, without thinking, Arthur's hands fly up to his hair, making sure it's still intact. He breaths a sigh of relief and levers his legs over the side of the squeaky camp bed, forcing the still-amused campers to scatter backward without warning.

"I don't suppose you have a mirror handy, so I can know what I'm dealing with before having to walk out there?"

"Sorry mate, I don't," Yusuf pauses, obviously debating with himself whether to assist Arthur or not. "But I do have my digital camera. Want me to take a picture and show you?"

Bless him. 

Arthur has already forgiven Yusuf for whatever he finds on that photo, just for being so nice about the whole thing. 

(And if Arthur's being honest, although his senior counselor did toe Cobb's line on the near-silent treatment of the junior counseling staff, he never did anything but chuckle and shake his head over the shoe incident.)

Arthur holds still while Yusuf frames him in the shot and then steels himself for what he'll find on the screen.

Deep breath.

When Arthur looks at the view screen he sees that his forehead is now home to a drawing of a unicorn with a very, _very_ phallic-looking horn sprouting from its head. Arching over it's back, "Arthur" is written in Medieval-style script. On his cheeks are puffy clouds feature with anthropomorphic cherub faces.

The whole thing appears to have been drawn with black sharpie. 

There is only one person at the camp who could possibly have made such clean lines on such a moveable canvas.

Arthur sighs.

"Is it just me?"

Yusuf chuckles and his eyes twinkle.

"Let's not get a big head," he responds. "Everyone is sporting tattoos this morning. Although I must say, I think yours is my favorite of the ones I've seen. Either yours or Nash's."

"What if I'd woken up?"

Yusuf's face darkens and his eyes shift to the side.

"We can talk about that later," he replies, glancing significantly at the campers.

"Boys, go outside," Arthur directs, feeling unprepared to face breakfast without knowing the full extent of the prank.

He tilts his head toward Yusuf's little room and shuts the door behind them once the last boy has exited the front door. He's surprised that the senior counselor is so willing to talk, but he figures that maybe in this post-retribution phase all of the counseling staff will be on the same page again.

"Please don't tell anyone," Yusuf implores. "I didn't know until it was too late. Cobb gave you guys sleeping tablets last night. Just the over-the-counter stuff. I brought a bunch with me, because I'm usually crap at sleeping in places that aren't noisy and urban. I don't know how he did it, but he says made sure only junior counselors got them."

Arthur's mouth falls open. He wasn't expecting this and feels a surge of anger and fear. 

"Jesus Christ! What if someone had been hurt?"

"Cobb said broke into the infirmary and checked everyone's files to make sure no one would have any reactions. Please don't say anything. I could be sent home, since the pills were mine, even if I didn't know he'd used them until you were already dosed" Yusuf is pleading. "I promise, I take those pills all the time at school. I have a terrible time sleeping without city noises outside my window. I'd never hurt anyone. Please."

Yusuf is desperate now.

Arthur is a bit shocked that Dom Cobb, of all people, would resort to such drastic measures, all over a pair of shoes. He can't understand why the head counselor would take such a dire risk.

"Was Eames involved? He obviously did the drawings." 

"No. He doesn't even know. I'm the only one and that's just because I noticed my pills had gone missing."

"Fine," Arthur responds. "As long as no one was hurt, I won't say anything. Still that was really fucking stupid."

"Thanks mate. Believe me. I know. I was like to kill him last night."

Arthur sighs, runs his hands through his hair and walks out to the porch, determined to meet this prank with a carefree and easygoing attitude, despite knowing the dark manipulations involved.

Unfortunately not all of the other counselors are so willing roll with the punches.

On the one hand, Ari is thrilled with the fire-breathing sea monster adorning her face. 

(Arthur finds it funny that the female junior counselors were obviously decorated by someone other than Eames. He didn't think the art counselor would be so hesitant to walk into the girl's cabins at night. He seems the type to spend his free time surreptitiously trying to locate a spy hole into the women's shower. Of course, maybe that aspect was decreed by Cobb, instead of Eames' own decision.)

On the other hand, Nash, who was so reluctant to participate in the shoe-burying scheme, is determined to make a stink about his own decorations.

His drawing is by far the most hilarious, in Arthur's opinion. Eames must really dislike him and Arthur finds himself wondering why. Other than Ari saying Nash was a good kisser, Arthur hadn't given the other boy a single thought until the night he started the prank war.

Nash's face is covered in drawings of mushrooms and toadstools--forehead, cheeks, chin and even one on his neck. Some are grotesque and rotten looking. Others are cute and cartoon-ish, like something from "Fantasia." A few are a couple of shaded lines away from looking exactly like penises.

Arthur supposes he'd be angrier about the prank if his drawing so clearly indicated dislike from the artist. On the other hand, he does have a phallic unicorn, and he isn't standing in the mess screaming his head off, voice cracking, nearly to the point of tears.

This is how Arthur ends up sitting in Saito's office with Ari and Nash. Dom, Eames and Mal are outside waiting their turn.

Nash had sold them out to Saito, claiming that the drawing was causing him psychological damage and that their instigation of the prank war was to blame.

Saito is frowning from behind his desk, glancing at each of the junior counselors in turn.

Before he can make any kind of pronouncements, Arthur speaks up.

"Sir, please don't hold Ariadne responsible," he says, using the grown-up tone that makes him such a favorite of coaches and teachers. "The whole thing was my idea from conception to execution. I convinced everyone else to follow my lead. Ari here was reluctant to participate. I pushed her into it. Please. It's my fault."

Ari opens her mouth to object, but Arthur shoots her his meanest, sternest look--the one he reserves for his toughest tennis opponents before the start of a match--and rests his hand momentarily on her knee. He's not going to let two of them get kicked out over this idiot.

Nash watches Arthur and frowns with an ugly look in his eyes. Arthur realizes that the other boy is jealous, and probably thinks that he and Ari are a couple. What an asshole to try to bring down the full weight of the camp director's authority over some petty teen romance bullshit. For the first time possibly ever, Arthur feels glad that he's remained mostly immune to those sorts of pitfalls.

"Ms. Kowalzack is this true?" Saito asks.

Ari nods meekly, glancing at Arthur with a mixture of gratitude and frustration.

"Very well, you may go."

Arthur breathes a sigh of relief. 

Nash, rises to stand with her, but Saito gestures for him to stay.

"Please send Mr. Cobb, Ms. Bernard and Mr. Eames in when you leave," he adds.

Mal looks frighteningly defiant and angry. Arthur can't help wondering what's going on in that girl's head right now. Cobb looks more scared that Arthur has ever seen him. (Of course no one else in this room, except for possibly Mal, knows exactly how far he'd bent the rules on this one, and he could get in very serious trouble if evidence of the sleeping pills comes to Saito's attention.) 

Arthur doesn't have long to consider their behavior though, because almost immediately Eames is stepping up and taking the full blame for the drawings.

"It was obviously me," he says. "I'm the art counselor. I can draw better and faster than anyone else here. I'm the one who was specifically targeted in the first prank--everyone knows how much I treasure my vintage trainers. I wanted revenge all on my own. No one else was involved."

Saito looks skeptical and raises one eyebrow at the pair of head counselors.

"What do you two have to say about this?" he asks.

Mal opens her mouth, eyes on fire, but Cobb clearly sees the out and takes it. He grabs Mal's wrist, squeezing tightly enough that Arthur can see her palm turn white, and responds: "Tristan was very angry. I should have seen that he'd try to exact revenge. But I was distracted and missed his plans. I'm sorry for falling down on my supervisory duties."

"Interesting that the hand of the drawings used on the female junior counselors appears different from that used to decorate the faces of the males," Saito says. But he seems ready to accept the obvious lie.

One of the things Arthur has come to respect about the camp director is his willingness to let the campers and counselors work things out for themselves. He clearly wishes he hadn't been pulled into this dispute and is resigned to believe whatever they tell him.

Arthur's suspicions are confirmed when the director speaks up to make his punishments.

"I wish you hadn't gotten me involved in these petty disputes," he says. "But now that you have, I have no choice but to respond. Mr. Cobb and Mrs. Bernard, you may leave. Please take care to keep a better eye on your fellow staff members going forward."

Arthur doesn't want to look at the floor like a shamed puppy when he gets kicked out of camp. He wants to meet Saito's eyes, but doesn't quite have the courage. 

So instead he glances sideways at Eames, who is inexplicably doodling on his arm with a sharpie. It's certainly an odd choice of activity, given what he's being called onto the carpet for, but Arthur figures he might have brought the marker as part of a last-ditch effort to prove that he was the artist.

Eames looks up and gives Arthur a lopsided, but genuine smile. Arthur can't help but respond with a tiny grin of his own. He certainly is impressed by the art counselor's willingness to throw himself under the bus for Cobb and Mal. At least Arthur can claim that he was protecting his best friend at camp. He isn't so sure that Eames even likes Dom.

Saito clears his throat.

"As a punishment, you will be prevented from riding the bus into town with the campers Saturday morning and you will have to forgo the usual privilege to spend the night in my house on Saturday night. I'll ask Doug to leave materials for you to make sandwiches in the camp kitchen."

Arthur feels relief swell up from the depths of his stomach. He's not being sent home! A quick glance over at Eames shows that he's feeling a similar sense of elation.

Nash, on the other hand, looks furious.

"Wait, that's all? Mr. Saito that hardly seems fair. Don't you think they deserve more of a punishment?"

"Are you questioning my disciplinary tactics, Mr. Nash?" Saito responds. "Not what I would call wise at this juncture. You'll notice that you are included in this punishment. I don't take kindly to people who feel it is appropriate to call out minor misbehavior for petty purposes."

Nash's mouth opens and closes, but no words manage to come out. Eames bites his bottom lip in an obvious effort not to laugh out loud at this response. Arthur feels his own eyes go wide and a grin threatens to burst through his serious facade.

The fact that Nash is getting it as bad as he and Eames almost makes the whole encounter worth it. Almost.

Still he'd been looking forward to spending an afternoon in the town, to eating real food, and to watching television and to sleeping in a real bed at Saito's house on Saturday. It's going to be a slog having nothing to do all day but sit around camp avoiding Nash and Eames.


	6. Between sessions: The punishment

Arthur wakes up Saturday morning filled with dread about the long, empty hours stretching ahead of him. He manages to keep himself in control as he says goodbye to the boys of DFC, double checking the cabin to make sure no one left anything under a bed or in a cubby. But once the campers and other counselors depart on the buses headed for town, he trudges back to his cot and flops down dejectedly. 

If he can just make it through the next 24 hours without drowning in self pity or succumbing to the desire to throttle Nash, he knows life will get better. He'll have a whole new batch of campers--8 year olds this time--and a fresh start with Yusuf, who has been nothing but accommodating since Arthur agreed to keep his secret. He'll probably be able to pull Ari aside to catch her up on the tumultuous events since she left Saito's office. And he'll finally have that tennis date with Robert, which Arthur desperately needs to figure out how to parlay into another heart-to-heart and maybe more.

He stretches out on the cot, remembering the talk he and Robert had had Thursday night--a bright spot in the gloom of his life at the moment.

After Saito had released Arthur, Eames and Nash from his office, the remainder of the day proceeded with a predictable level of pandemonium. The chaos kept Arthur and the other staffers busy enough that he could push aside his anger and hurt feelings. But by the time he herded DFC to bed after their nightly campfire activities, Arthur felt worn down to the bone and scrubbed raw inside. 

He knew without being told that the junior counselors were welcome to return to the shack that night. But he hadn't felt much like socializing. He was furious with Dom and Nash, ambivalent about Yusuf and confused about Eames and Mal. The only people he was at all interested in talking to were Ari and Robert. No one else had even been on his emotional radar at that point. 

He caught Cobb's eye as they both exited the campfire circle. The older boy flinched slightly at the hard look Arthur gave him--challenging Dom to say a fucking word about the events of the previous few days. 

"I'll take guard duty," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice as dry and emotionless as possible, not wanting to betray exactly how much he knew about Cobb's extremely questionable decisions and how betrayed he felt.

He made sure his charges were safely in bed and promptly sat down outside on the top step of the cabin's porch . He hadn't even felt up to to walking around and patroling the perimeter, and decided to just sit there and listen for activity. All he'd really wanted to do was crawl into bed, or maybe run through the woods hard and fast enough to shut his brain down from exhaustion. 

But instead he remained seated--elbows on his knees, eyes closed--and tried not to think about how much uglier the camp environment felt than it did a week earlier.

About a half an hour into his mope-fest, Arthur heard footsteps approaching, but he hadn't looked up.

"Rough day, I guess?" Robert voice asked in the darkness. 

Arthur's chest swelled in response. 

If there was anything that could have turn that nightmare of a day around, it was a little one-on-one attention from his crush.

Slowly, he lifted his head and looked into Robert's sympathetic blue eyes. 

(Of course, it was a little difficult to gaze admiringly at someone whose face was covered with a sketch of fuzzy ducklings toddling after their mother--the fifth duckling featuring a little arrow with the name "Robbie" pointing to its downy head. But Arthur had somehow managed to find a way.)

Robert levered himself down to the step below Arthur and leaned back on his elbows. They were silent for a long time, which was actually fine by Arthur. 

"That was really nice, what you did," Robert said, minutes later. 

"Hmm?"

"Keeping Ari from getting in trouble. It was, you know, chivalrous. My dad always says there is a distinct lack of chivalry in men today. He'd like you, I think."

Arthur had suddenly felt light-headed and wanted to pinch himself. Robert was complimenting him. And he was sort-of talking about introducing Arthur to his family.

Arthur had taken a deep breath.

"Of course, he'd probably just say I should be more like you," Robert added, looking glum.

"I like you the way you are," Arthur blurted out, before he could stop himself. 

As soon as the remark left his lips, Arthur's mind had gone into code-red panic mode--alarms flashing and ringing inside his skull. He'd felt short of breath.

"What the fuck did you just do?" he asked himself.

Robert paused for a second before he bumped Arthur's leg with his shoulder and mumbled: "Thanks. ... Sorry, I didn't mean to take my problems with my father out on you again."

Arthur's heart had slowed and he'd released a breath as his brain sounded an all-clear signal to the rest of his body. 

"He just thinks you were being polite," Arthur told himself. "But please, please, please don't say anything else that embarrassing ever, ever again."

They were quiet for a few more minutes, and Robert yawned behind his slender hand.

"I mean Cobb let the weird art guy take the fall for his girlfriend and they've been together for years," he said, bringing the conversation back around. "You only just met Ari a few weeks ago and you're already treating her with more respect and dignity than that."

Arthur's first thought had been that Robert had some very old-fashioned ideas. Why should he treat Ari any different than any of his other friends, just because she happened to be a girl? For some reason he thought of Lux back home, who would probably have used Robert's comment to start a tirade about double standards. Instead he sat quietly, waiting to see if Robert expanded his thoughts.

"I don't know, I guess it's none of my business. I'm just glad she has someone to treat her right," Robert added.

Arthur's eyes opened wide at that remark. He parted his lips to speak, but couldn't quite find the words. 

"Robert thinks Ari is my girlfriend!!!" his racing mind exclaimed. "What should I do? How do I make it clear that she's not and that she never will be. Should I just say so? Should I make a joke? Oh god, oh god, don't fuck this up!"

Finally, Arthur settled on a small smile as he replied: "Oh we're not dating each other." 

Robert's head quirked in Arthur's direction. 

"I mean I may be a pretty relaxed person, at least compared to some other counselors--cough, Nash, cough--but I don't think I'd be down with my girlfriend making out with half the camp outside the counselors shack at night." 

"Was that insulting to Ari?" he wondered to himself. "Did I just blow my chivalry cred?"

"I'm sorry," Robert responded. He paused a moment and added, "I know all about getting stuck in the dreaded friend zone." At this he sat upright and turned to face Arthur as fully as possible, given their arrangement on the stairs.

Arthur held breath. Were they flirting? Was Robert just being sympathetic? He didn't know. 

He'd felt lost at sea.

"It's, it's not like that," he stammered in reply. "Ari and I are just friends. I, uh, I'm not really, um, so much in to girls."

Arthur felt like he'd been close to passing out from lack of oxygen to his brain in the moments immediately after his confession. He hadn't drawn a breath. He hadn't blinked. He hadn't moved a solitary muscle for a good ten seconds.

"Oh," Robert whispered and looked down at the stairs.

Mortified, Arthur had debated getting up, going inside and smothering himself with his own pillow. His heartbeat felt erratic and his chest constricted. 

"Can 16-year-old athletes have heart attacks?" he wondered.

Then Robert looked back up. His eyes were wide with surprise. His lips were parted, as if to ask Arthur something, but the question never came. 

Arthur wondered if that was his moment. Had Robert been waiting for Arthur to make a move? Or was he freaking out and wanting to run away, but held in place by his strict, internal code of polite conduct. Arthur hadn't known what to do.

Eventually Robert drew those beautiful lips into a tight line and turned back around, silent. 

Arthur despaired.

But then Robert surprised him by leaning back on his elbows. 

"Let's finally get that game of tennis in next week when the new campers arrive," he said and turned his head to the side and smiled at Arthur, whose insides were overcome with a delightful effervescence.

He was pretty sure Robert was letting Arthur known that it was OK to be attracted to him!

Now, curled up on his cot, half asleep, Arthur's reminiscing somehow turns to daydreams about beating Robert at tennis and then leaning over the net to kiss him, while Ari leads a group of campers in a cheer. 

He's obviously very tired if this fantasy seems anything other than laughable. It's been ages since he was able to sleep past sunrise and he lets himself doze off in the stuffy heat of the cabin.

Arthur jolts awake a several hours later when the a member cleaning crew Saito hired to sanitize the cabins between sessions opens the door, allowing it to bang against the back wall.

Embarrassed, and mumbling apologies, Arthur he grabs his tennis racket from under the bed and his water bottle and a couple of granola bars from his cubby. 

He heads down to the court where he hits balls off the back wall for over an hour.

He's genuinely starting to worry a bit about getting into shape for his final high school tennis season. He's already going to miss a few days of pre-season practices due to the camp's schedule. He needs to be in good shape when he shows up or he might as well forfeit his top spot for good. 

Arthur wonders if he should ask Saito for permission to run or train before the breakfast bell. A week ago, he wouldn't have hesitated. But he's no longer sure of his footing as far as the camp director is concerned. 

He breaks from backhand drills to do 200 situps and two sets of 50 pushups. Throughout the exercises, his forehead remains wrinkled with concern about the possibility of making a poor showing his senior year and losing any small chance he might have of attracting college recruiters.

Arthur decides to go for a jog around the lake. It should give him time to clear his head. He needs a sharp mind to figure out how to improve his situation at camp, as well as his standing as a high school athlete. Nothing helps Arthur focus like getting into the zone of pounding feet and aching legs.

By early evening, Arthur is a sweaty mess, but he's calm in a way he hasn't felt since the night he started the prank war. 

Strangely, he's a little bit glad to be banned from Saito's house with its DVD film festivals, pizza deliveries, shrieks of laughter, drunken board game tournaments and whatever else the counseling staff is getting up to tonight. He's sure they're having fun, but Arthur thinks maybe he needed a day to regroup and avoid drama.

Of course, the past week has been all about drama finding Arthur whether he wants it or not. 

He's halfway to the boy's showers when he sees Nash's dark head disappearing inside the door. 

"Son of a bastard!" Arthur says out loud, using Ari's favorite homegrown curse as naturally as if it were his own.

He feels gross and sticky after a full afternoon of exercising--not to mention the tightness in his muscles from sustained use, so different from the quick bursts of jogging between activities that he's used to now. But he could be bleeding from a gunshot wound and still wouldn't consciously enter the shower hut with Nash. 

As far as Arthur's concerned, he doesn't want to exchange a single word with Nash for the rest of the summer. 

He bites his lip in frustration and turns around to jog up to the mess hall. The one good aspect of this near encounter is that Arthur is starving after a lunch of two granola bars and now he knows he can scrounge the kitchen in peace while Nash showers.

Except of course, of fucking course, Eames is in the kitchen. 

The older boy is practically crawling into the industrial-sized refrigerator when Arthur enters, but he turns on his heel with a frightening grimace on his face, giving Arthur an inkling of what Eames might look like in a fight. It's scarier than what he'd imagined on the night they buried the shoes.

But Eames's face instantly softens when he sees Arthur standing in front of the swinging doors. 

"Sorry champ, I thought you were that greasy haired wanker Nash. I was seriously debating the merits of hitting him in the face with a frying pan, cartoon-style," Eames says with a crooked smile and a twinkle in his eyes. 

All things considered, Arthur would rather be alone right now. His new peace of mind still feels too fragile for socializing. But he's starving and Eames is looking at him with an unguarded, happy expression. Arthur wonders if the usually gregarious art counselor is having trouble coping with a day left to his own devices. 

He levers himself up on the stainless steel counter-top and asks, "what have you unearthed in there Dr. Jones? And can I have some of it?"

Eames chuckles. "I'm more of a James Bond man myself."

"Whatever. I actually prefer Sherlock Holmes to both of them. I was just trying to be funny. I'm fucking starving and probably too light-headed for banter." 

Eames raises one eyebrow, but remains quiet as he starts pulling items from the fridge and stacking them on the far counter. 

Arthur doesn't want to seem anti-social, so after several minutes of silence have passed, albeit comfortably, he volunteers that he saw Nash hit the showers.

"God I hope he doesn't come up here for food next," he adds. "I'm really, really not capable of dealing with him right now."

"Do you think the front door locks?" Eames asks. 

Before Arthur can answer, both he and Eames are careening out of the kitchen and into the main mess hall, one headed for the front entrance, the other for a side door.

"I will never, ever say this again, but you are a motherfucking genius Tristan Eames," Arthur says, leaning back on his now-locked door and smiling. 

"Don't speak too soon," Eames replies. "You haven't tasted my cooking yet."

"What are we having anyway?"

"Well I don't know about you, but I'm having an omelet with fried bread. I haven't decided whether or not I'm going to share with public enemy number one right now. It might not be in my best interest." 

"Whoa, hold on one second here. If anyone is public enemy number one at this camp it is Nash. I'm number two." 

Eames snorts.

"You are so juvenile." 

"Takes one to know one."

"Not really disputing my point here ' _T_ ''"

"Oh lord, are you really going to insist on continuing to call me that Arrrrrrr-thur?"

"I don't know, are you going to make me an omelet?"

Eames cocks his head and gives Arthur a considering look. Then he smiles and asks, "can you at least chop an onion or a pepper or something?"

"Deal." 

Eames sets Arthur up with a knife, cutting board and stack of vegetables. 

"Are you sure this is OK? Saito specified sandwiches."

"It's fine. Relax."

"What? I like to be specific about things. He said sandwiches; I planned to eat sandwiches. I don't want to get in trouble."

Eames huffs a laugh.

"A bit late for that, yeah?" 

"I swear to God Eames," Arthur emphasizes the other boy's name. "I was just trying to have a little fun. Surely you, of all fucking people, can understand that. I didn't know I was unleashing all these monsters."

"Fire breathing Dominic Cobb and Sucking Swamp Monster Earl Nash?"

"Wait Nash's first name is Earl? Are you serious?" 

"As a heart attack. It almost makes you feel sympathy, doesn't it?"

"No. Never."

Eames smirks as he breaks eggs over the diced bacon he's been frying and upends Arthur's entire cutting-board worth of vegatables into the giant iron skillet. This is apparently going to be one huge omelet.

"Now, bread," he says, rubbing his hands together with glee before dropping a frighteningly large glob of butter into a separate pan.


	7. Second session: The heartbreak

Sunday night Arthur is standing in the counselor's shack, his chest achingly tight, wondering if the odd prickly feeling in his face means that he might start crying--in public--for the first time since Kindergarten.

"So much for that new-found peace of mind," he thinks, trying his hardest not to stare or to let his hurt feelings show on his face.

The first half of the day had been a whirlwind.

The day started well enough when Yusuf had attempted to cover Arthur's still-lingering, semi-vulgar unicorn with cheerful face paint. (It had been Eames' idea to help prevent the brand-new campers from being frightened off by the junior counselor's Sharpie face tattoos.) 

This was followed by helping his new charges settle into their spaces in DFC and into the morning routine of activities. The eight year olds were sweeter than the previous batch, but also far less independent, which probably meant a lot more running around for Arthur this session.

The first hint of the terrible turn Arthur's day would take happened at lunch.

Arthur was trying to keep his restless kids moving through the line when Ari nudged his shoulder and said: "Huge news dude. Meet me outside after the eating."

He smiled at her. He thought about his conversation with Robert the previous week; his determination to make that tennis date happen as soon as possible; and his weird, new friendship with Eames and said: "You're not the only one who's got news."

Unfortunately, as lunch wore on, one of his kids started crying at the table, homesick already, and instead of meeting Ari on the empty milk crates outside, Arthur spent the back half of lunch trying to help poor Billy calm down in the infirmary.

Afterward, the DFC jogged down to the lake for canoeing followed by swimming--both led by Yusuf, who was a certified lifeguard as well as a practiced scuba diver.

"Hey, we were so busy this morning that I didn't get a chance, but there's something I wanted to tell you," Yusuf said, toeing his sneaker against the dock's slowly rotting wood as he and Arthur watched life-jacketed campers paddle in sloppy circles out on the lake.

Arthur frowned at him, awaiting further information about Cobb's frightening scheme.

As a result, he wasn't at all prepared when Yusuf responded: "It's about your girl, Ari, well she's not your girl, but it's obvious you like her and all. Well I just want to save you the pain of having to hide it on your face when she tells you. I know all about that feeling man..."

Arthur opened his mouth to interrupt Yusuf and set the record straight, but something made him hold back. He felt a weird swooping in his stomach, as if he were bracing for a fall.

"... I saw her up at Saito's. Well not like they were making any attempt to hide it. What I'm trying to say is that she definitely hooked up with Robert Fischer."

Arthur was not savvy or controlled enough to keep his face from falling. A small part of his brain was relieved that Yusuf would think he was upset about Ari being interested in a different guy. And honestly, in spite of how unfair it was, part of his shock was due to feeling a bit betrayed by her. But mostly he felt gut-punching agony that he could have misread Robert's interest so completely.

"Oh god he wanted to hang out with you to get to know Ari," Arthur's brain supplied. "He never even considered for a second that you might have been interested in him."

Arthur's skin was hot and he wanted to jump off the dock straight into the lake to cool off. He heard a buzzing in his ears and felt short of breath. He didn't know how to respond or what to say.

"You're over reacting, you're over reacting, you're over reacting," he told himself. "You barely even knew Robert. You knew Ari wanted to kiss him. You fucking agreed with her that one of you should. Get a grip on yourself before Yusuf takes you up to the infirmary with poor Billy."

Yusuf placed a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"I know man. I'm sorry. I've so been there. More times than you can imagine. She's a sweet, cute girl. But you can do better. That Alice chick might like you. She's always being nice to you and I heard she's kind of a make-out slut."

Arthur laughed. He couldn't help himself.

"She's nice to me because she wants to duck out when our cabins have shared activities so that she can smoke in the woods. And probably make out with someone. I don't know. I don't think she's ever even set foot in the art hut. She might kiss me, but only to use me to get something else."

"Well maybe it would make Ari jealous."

"Thanks, Yusuf. Seriously. I appreciate it, but Alice is not the solution here."

Yusuf chuckled and squeezed Arthur's shoulder, turning his attention to the campers in their canoes.

"Look at the one in the purple hat. He's paddling with the wrong end."

"Better than canoe number five. One of us is going to have to swim out there and get their paddles for them. Think you feel sorry enough for me to take on that responsibility?"

"Exercise will do you good. Clears the mind."

Arthur had managed to keep joking through his inner turmoil for the rest of the afternoon. After all, what else could he have done but kept his chin up and his wit dry?

When quiet rest came around, Arthur pretended that his new charges needed his help adjusting to the cabin and Yusuf agreed to cover for him. Instead of hanging out with the other counselors, he sat cross-legged on his cot and read from his well-worn copy of "In Cold Blood." The other counselors were playing wink on the baseball outfield. Arthur was pretty sure that he would puke if saw Ari and Robert paired up together, or if he saw them kiss at the center of the circle.

On the walk up to dinner, Arthur rushed up to Ari's side and threw his arm around her shoulder. He was determined not to show her how hurt and angry he felt. It wasn't fair to take it out on her when he's known that she liked Robert, too.

"Sorry for being so MIA playa," he said. "I heard the big news though. You are a fucking rock star!"

"Damn! I wanted to be the one to tell you, since it was our shared thing and all. You're not mad are you?"

"Hell no. So was it awesome?"

Arthur's mind was spinning in dizzy circles and his heart thudded in his chest as he willfully ignored Ari's answer. But he was determined not to let Ari see his inner turmoil. Luckily, she was even more excitable than usual--"don't think about that too hard," his brain supplied--and failed to notice that his smile was nearly a grimace and that he wasn't listening to a word she said.

Arthur managed to compartmentalize his feelings through dinner and the campfire.

Then Ari and Robert walk into the counselors shack holding fucking hands.

Arthur is nearly completely overwhelmed. He squeezes his eyes shut. He suddenly feels actually nauseous and has to hide it behind a coughing fit.

This is the fourth boy that Ari has made out with since camp started, but the first she's had anything to do with afterward.

"Yusuf said hooked up, that could mean a lot more than making out," Arthur thinks to himself. "It looks like she actually wants Robert to be her boyfriend."

A new wave of panic hits Arthur as he realizes that he might have to spend the rest of the summer watching his two formerly favorite fellow counselors grow slowly more and more couple-like, leaving him out in the lonely cold. As usual.

He's going to have to play tennis with Robert and restrain himself from throwing a McEnroe-style tantrum on the court, or hitting his crush in the face with a wicked serve. He's going to have to listen to Ari talk about kissing Robert and how cute he is and how dreamy those blue eyes are when they're gazing into her own.

Arthur thinks he might be seconds away from hyperventilating.

"Oi, I really need help moving some boxes to set up for the Diorama O' Rama," Eames suddenly calls from the corner. "Arthur do you think you could lend me a hand? Or are you afraid of getting tennis elbow or something?"

"You don't get tennis elbow from lifting things, moron," Arthur replies, but there's no bite in his words this time.

"Come on then, I promise to have you back in no time flat," Eames says as he grabs some beer from the cooler by the door and departs.

Ari gives Arthur a puzzled look, but he just shrugs and follows the art counselor out into the night.

Arthur and Eames don't speak for the entire walk back to the main camp and down the hill to the art hut. Once inside, Eames lights an electric lantern and hands Arthur a beer.

"You looked like you really needed to get out of there, yeah," he says, with a tiny, sympathetic smile on his lips.

Arthur is torn between opening up and telling Eames everything and lashing out at the older boy for inserting himself into Arthur's misery.

"Thanks," he simply says. "I don't really want to talk about it though."

"Fair enough," Eames shrugs. "I really do have a few things that need doing, although you can just sit there and drink if you want."

Arthur wants to help, he really does, but finds himself slumped in the corner, nursing the cheap beer.

After a few minutes of silently working, Eames looks up and asks: "so are you going to make a diorama for me tomorrow?"

"I don't think we have art until Wednesday," Arthur replies glumly. "But sure, why not. It's not like make-out-slut Alice is ever going to show up and participate."

Eames lets out a surprised laugh that is dangerously close to giggle territory.

"I think Yusuf fancies her," he says. "So you probably shouldn't say that in front of him."

"He was the one who brought it to my attention," Arthur retorts. "He was trying just this afternoon to get me to drown my sorrows in her mouth."

"You are really weird sometimes, you know."

"Says the guy who made a self portrait that wears plaid and paisley together."

Eames's smile at Arthur's attempted insult is borderline fond.

"Yeah well, kids like bright colors and bold patterns, I'll have you know. I was only trying to stimulate their young minds."

"I actually thought the thing with the hands was pretty cool--the, like, letter cutouts or whatever. It made it look like you wanted to tell stories with your hands."

Eames's face lights up like a firefly with the compliment.

"That's exactly what I was thinking! Although you know one of the parents said it made them think of a ransom note. I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that."

"So you're going to art school in the fall? That's cool. Is that collage kind of stuff what you want to do?"

"Yeah I'm going to the School of the Art Institute of Chicago," Eames replies, face animated like Arthur has never seen it before--not in laughter or jest--just plain excited. "You want to hear what's crazy, I've spent a total of three days in Chicago. I'm going to be so lost. But I was so completely gobsmacked when I toured the school. I just knew I had to go there, you know? I did a lot of drawing and collage back at home when I took extra art classes during school holidays. But what I really want is to learn proper sculpture, you know, get my hands dirty."

"Chicago is fantastic. My top school is Northwestern. I visited there when my sister was looking at the University of Illinois. I don't know if I can get in, though. And I'm probably not good enough to play tennis, even if I do."

"Maybe you could pay me a visit, yeah."

"Why so you can pretend not to recognize me? Or to be someone else entirely, just to mess with my head?"

"It's called teasing Arthur. My God man, are you never going to forgive me?" Eames looks up from where he's sorting construction paper and pipe cleaners into chromatic piles with a frown creasing his brow.

"Wouldn't know anything about it," Arthur replies, grinning for the first time since Yusuf's little talk. 

Eames smiles back in earnest, instantly realizing that Arthur is just messing with him in return.

Maybe its getting away from the crowd, maybe its the beer he's been drinking all night, or maybe it's Eames turning his seemingly magical powers of calming nervous campers on him, but Arthur genuinely feels a little bit better.

Before he can stop himself, Arthur blurts out: "I know it's immature to act like my world is ending over one stupid little crush. I'm just, it's just, I don't like losing. When I put my mind to something, I always, always manage to accomplish it. That's why I can't decide about tennis in college. I know once I make a decision that I won't be able to stop myself from pursuing it to all ends--which could completely fuck over my last season in high school if I decide its not worth it going forward. I just have a really hard time not getting something I want."

The silence hangs between them for a few minutes after Arthur breaks off from his rant. He isn't sure if he said too much. He doesn't know how Eames will react if he reveals any more.

"I know just how you feel," Eames says, but he doesn't look up from his brightly colored stacks of craft supplies.

"I'm sorry," Arthur says.

"Don't be. You're the one who didn't want to talk about it before, not me."

"You're, like, really nice. I don't know why I never realized that before. You bail out Dom and Mal, for practically no reason as far as I can tell. You save me from my own ridiculousness. You're nice in a way I can't even believe, even nicer than me."

"Nice," Eames repeats, but he doesn't smile. "Just what every bloke aims to be."

The silence between them feels uncomfortable for the first time in over a week. Arthur isn't sure what he did wrong, so he plows ahead.

"Why did you do it anyway?"

"What?" Eames, looks up. His eyes are not fully open, and Arthur can see his lashes casting shadows across his cheekbones. "You want to know why I brought you down here?"

"No."

"Oh ... What then?"

"Dumbass, why you took the blame for Dom. Do you know what he did? I don't think he really deserves your kindness."

"Well it isn't really my place to say, is it. I mean I hardly even know what's going on between them."

"What do you mean? I don't get it."

"I don't know the whole story. I just know she's miserable and doesn't want to be here. Dom's trying to get her to stay but I think she wanted to be kicked out."

"What? So wait she was the one who did it? Not him? I'm totally confused and I don't think it's just because of the four beers I've had."

"Maybe I'd better finish this last one for you, hmmm?"

"Do you know what they did? Did Yusuf tell you what Dom did? And now you're saying maybe it was Mal all along?" Arthur whispers.

"No, but I don't think you should tell me. Yusuf's my mate and I respect his privacy. He can tell me if he wants."

"But, but, but" Arthur sputters.

Eames takes the newly opened fifth beer from Arthur's hand.

"Did you like my unicorn?" he asks, changing the subject.

"No. But it was better than those awful mushrooms, or the drunk-looking sailor and mermaid. Maybe even better than the ducks." At this Arthur pauses and sighs. "Ducks," he repeats burying his chin his arms.

"I don't think we can paint your faces again. The new batch will just have to see what twisted bastards you all are tomorrow."

"Us? You're the one who did it. You and ... well someone. Who did do the girls anyway?"

"Now Arthur, would you want me telling your secrets?" 

The look Eames give him is entirely too pointed, and Arthur squirms minutely in his chair.

"Why didn't you just do everyone's drawings? Yours were better anyway."

"It felt wrong, didn't it, going into the girls cabin's. I don't know. Less innocent fun, more possible serious trouble, yeah."

"Here I figured you'd spent your free hours trying to dig a peep-hole into the girl's showers."

" _Hardly_. ... Hey, I've got some Lava soap and pumice stone for when we make pinch pots next week. I think it might be enough to take off most of the Sharpie marks. Want to give it a go?"

Eames hustles to a cupboard at the rear of the hut, fishes out two little dark squares and beckons Arthur over to the foot-pedal sink in the corner.

The soap is rough on his face and the pumice stings, but Arthur would probably rub his skin off to forget the mostly miserable last few days.

Oddly that dinner with Eames on Sunday and this little venting session in the art hut have been the only true bright spots in his life since he came up with the shoe-burying plan. Yes, he'd initially thought the talk with Robert on Friday was a bright spot. But he had clearly been very, very wrong.

Arthur rinses and Eames brings the lantern over to inspect his face.

"How's it look?"

"Not bad, actually. There are some faint traces, but it's mostly gone. ... Oh wait. There's a bit by your ear. Here, let me get it."

Without thinking, Arthur hands the Lava soap to Eames and sits on the nearby stool. Eames bites his lower lip in concentration as he gently, but firmly, rubs the skin on Arthur's cheekbone and then moves up to his temple. Arthur looks up at him and notices for the first time how beautiful Eames's eyes are--stormy grey, with hints of green that are brought out by the lantern light.

A moment later Eames backs away and directs Arthur to rinse again.

"Well this seems to do the trick. I'd better bring it up to the shack and offer it round before everyone goes to bed."

He pauses and looks back at Arthur, now a few feet away.

"Do you feel up to coming with? You can stay here as long as you want."

"No. I think I'll just go up to bed. You're right I definitely shouldn't drink any more tonight. I'm more than a little buzzed."

"OK. Well I'm off then. See you in the morning, yeah," Eames says, but doesn't move toward the door.

A silent minute passes before Eames edges around the tables and makes for the exit. When he gets there he pauses and says: "Don't forget to turn off the lantern."

"I won't."

"Oh and Arthur," he adds. "You're too good for him."

Before Arthur can respond, Eames has disappeared into the night.


	8. Second session: Confessions

The morning bell jolts Arthur out of a deep sleep and he finds himself tangled in the covers of his cot, sweaty, and definitely worse for the wear.

He has three thoughts in quick succession: If only I had time for a quick shower; how did Eames know that Robert was the one I wanted, when no one else can see it; and I've got to talk to Yusuf about the sleeping pills again.

He shrugs and dismisses the first one. He'll go for a swim as soon as possible this afternoon. He pushes the second to the back of his mind so he can mull it over later when he's not feeling so fuzzy. He decides to deal with the third one right away.

Arthur had fallen asleep alternately worrying about Eames's ability to see right though him and about Mal's intentions now that he knows she'd failed in her first attempt to get booted from camp.

He swings his legs over the side of his squeaky cot and heaves himself upright. He doesn't know how on earth Yusuf can get through so many of his days hungover like this. Arthur usually nurses one beer, or if he's feeling bold has a second. But four and a quarter beers were clearly a bit much for him.

He taps on the senior counselor's door, waits to hear a muffled groan of semi-welcome and then slips in as nonchalantly as possible, so as not to attract the interest of the rousing campers. With the older boys last session he and Yusuf had had to send them out on the porch for private conversations. But he doesn't think these younger boys will consider listening at the door, a least not this early in the session.

"Hey, I know it's painfully early and all but I really have to ask you something, you know, private," he says.

"OK. You can ask, but I told you everything I know yesterday. I wasn't like peeping through the window or something."

"What? ... Oh ... No, not about that. It's about, you know, Dom and the ..." he breaks off, gesturing around the room, at a loss for how to non-verbally communicate what he's referring to, just in case.

"Oh," Yusuf's eyes go wide in fear. "I feel bloody wretched about it. I probably always will, to be honest. But it's done, right? I'm not going to tell Saito. But I'm not going to let it happen again, either."

"I know. It's fine. Well not fine, but I'm not going to say anything, either. It's just ... What did Dom say when he confessed about the pills?"

"When I noticed they'd gone missing, I went straight to him. I was worried it was a camper--that we had some seriously depressed kid or something. It freaked me right out. So I told Cobb and asked him what to do. He owned up to it right away."

"Did he seem surprised when you told him?"

"Possibly, but more just that I'd figured it out so quickly, I think. Why?"

"What if it wasn't actually him?" 

"What possible motivation would he have for lying about .... Oh. Oh buggering fuck. Seriously?"

"You are sworn to secrecy on this, OK?"

"Arthur, it's my secret in the first place why would I tell anyone else?"

"Eames thinks that Mal was trying to get kicked out. I'm worried that since she didn't succeed, she might try again. Please hide those pills somewhere safe, Yusuf."

"Fucking hell, this is a mess. OK. I will. I'll figure something out right now. Take the boys up to breakfast and I'll look for a good little hidey hole for them."

Arthur is relieved that DFC has tennis that morning, so that he can keep his mind busy demonstrating drills and handing out pointers. Officially, Tadashi is the camp's tennis counselor. But Arthur is by far the better player and is pretty much given full reign to instruct the kids whenever his cabin is on the court.

Next up is softball with the 8-year-old girls. Arthur acts as first base coach for both teams for a full nine innings.

He kind of wishes they had soccer or art, so that he could talk to Eames. But another part of Arthur isn't quite ready to deal with the older boy, now that it's common knowledge between them that Arthur has a same-sex crush on Robert Fischer. It shouldn't matter. Eames obviously already knew when they talked yesterday down at the art hut. But Arthur still feels as if he'd revealed a secret when they'd parted ways the night before. It makes no sense, but there it is.

At lunch he pulls Ari out of the line and leads her outside by her elbow.

"Sheesh Arthur, what gives? I've barely seen you since session started and now you're manhandling me out of getting chicken fingers, which you know are my favorite."

"I'm sorry, Ari. I really am. It's been a weird few days for me. But I really have to ask you a favor and it's kind of private."

" _Okaaaay_. I'm not sure what I can do for you, but ask away, I guess," Ari's tone is wary. 

He has the weird feeling that she thinks he's going to ask for her permission to pursue Robert even though she's apparently dating him now. Like Arthur would ever do something so desperate and weird. How can Ari not know that? What is happening with them lately? It utterly sucks.

"It's not about me. It's about Mal. I'm just, I'm worried about her. I think she might be ... I think she's unhappy and I know you two are a little bit friendly. Will you just talk to her? Check in or something?"

"Okaaay," Ari repeats for the second time in two minutes. "But why you don't you just talk to her yourself, if you're so concerned?"

"Because you're a girl Ari," he says, not understanding why that isn't obvious. "Also her boyfriend pretty much hates me right now. I really don't want him getting the wrong idea about my asking to have a private little ' _tête-à-tête_ ' with her," he adds, using air quotes to mock his best French class accent.

"Fine," she responds. "I'll do it. But I don't really know what to say. Can you just ... I don't know tell me what this is all about. You're acting so weird lately."

"I'm sorry. I just--everything that happened last week kind of threw me off, OK? I'm just figuring stuff out."

"You're acting mysterious and you keep disappearing and I hate it. Is this why you were missing during quiet rest yesterday and why you snuck off with your nemesis last night?"

"Eames and I spent Saturday here together when everyone else was partying, or whatever, at Saito's house, OK. He's actually pretty nice."

"If anyone's my nemesis now, it's Nash," Arthur thinks, but feels embarrassed to say for some reason.

"I don't know Arthur. I feel like I'm not cool and sophisticated enough for you anymore now that you're all up in senior-counselor business affairs. I'll talk to Mal though. But don't ask me for any more favors until you're willing to tell me what's actually going on with you."

Arthur feels ugly and mean inside when he walks back into the raucous mess hall. Part of him is guilt ridden at making Ari feel left out in the cold, when it's really his own jealousy driving them apart. Another part of him is angry that she can't see how much she's hurt him.

"How could everything about my life here have changed so much in just over a week?" he thinks.

But he honestly can't say what he would do if given the opportunity to go back in time and prevent the pranks and the subsequent punishment. Because it would also have prevented the friendship with Eames, who is pretty much the only good thing in Arthur's life right now, as utterly surprising as that sounds. 

"The genie's out of the bottle, anyway. I can't go back to that more innocent time, even if I wanted to." he thinks. "It's probably better to know now that Ari would chose Robert over me, anyway."

During quiet rest, Arthur makes a beeline for the lake, pulls off his shirt and dives off the end of the dock. The crisp water erases the sticky feeling of hangover sweat that's been clinging to his skin all day.

After a few minutes of floating on his back, Arthur climbs out, pulls on his shirt and lies back on the wooden slats, waiting for the ugly green shorts to dry off in the sun.

Now that he are Ari are uneasy with each other, Arthur feels borderline lonely for the first time since camp started. He's has more thoughts racing through his mind right now than ever before, and no one to confide them in anymore.

He wonders if he could bring himself to talk to Eames about his jealousy. Yes, the art counselor apparently knows what's going on in Arthur's head in terms of Robert and Ari. But that doesn't mean Arthur has the guts to open up to him about it using actual words, rather than whatever form of psychic signals Eames has been reading up to this point.

Footsteps shake the wood beneath his back and Arthur sits up to see Eames walking toward him--as if summoned by his thoughts.

"OK that is fucking creepy," he thinks. "Maybe Eames really is actually psychic or something. Oh God, I hope not. How embarrassing. Although it would explain how he'd so thoroughly owned me in three truths and a lie on the first day."

"Mind some company?" Eames asks.

Arthur nods, realizes that might be taken the wrong way, then shakes his head, shrugs and settles for gesturing for Eames to sit next to him.

They dangle their legs over the edge and stare at the water companionably for a few minutes before Arthur says, "Thanks for last night."

"No worries. ... We can talk about it whenever you want. I, uh, I know ... I'm not going to tell anyone, you know."

"Yeah, I know. It's just. I don't want to dump my stupid angst bullshit on you. Or anyone. I know it's just a silly crush. Hell, you and I weren't even friends until a few days ago. You shouldn't have to put up with my crap."

To Arthur's surprise Eames's face falls slightly at his remark.

He backtracks. 

"I mean we weren't enemies. We just have never been, you know, confidants, or whatever."

"S'alright. I guess I'm maybe a bit crap at being friendly without teasing and pushing buttons and that," he says. "But I like to think I make up for it with excellent listening skills, yeah."

Arthur huffs a tiny laugh.

"I don't even really know what to say. I don't even know what's going on in my mind anymore these days. It's all so confusing. I thought I wanted something. But maybe I just wanted it because I have a hard time conceding the victory when I've lost. It's just ... I don't know how to explain it ..."

Eames sits quietly, giving Arthur the illusion of privacy by looking out at lake's far shore, rather than turning to urge him onward in the story.

"This whole thing was supposed to be, like, a test for me. It was supposed to let me figure out what I like ... what kind of person ... God why is this so hard to say? ... I didn't know if I liked girls or boys, OK? I mean obviously you at least kind of know that already, given what you said last night. Anyway, I wanted to try to figure it out somewhere away from home, where no one would ever have to know. I thought I'd made this perfect plan. But I seem to have fucked up spectacularly."

A few minutes pass before Eames quietly asks, "what makes you think you've mucked it up?"

"Well I got here at the beginning of the summer and decided I'd just have to pick someone who seemed likely to, you know, be open to my, um ... experimentation, I guess ... or at least someone who wouldn't punch me in the face for my trouble."

It takes all of Arthur's mental strength to prevent himself from looking sideways at Eames as he says this. But somehow the other boy knows what Arthur was thinking--as usual--because he barks out a short laugh and says, "like the tattooed, Minnesotan tough who sat next to you the first day?"

Arthur doesn't know how to respond, so he just shrugs. But the remark is enough to make him incredulous that he's talking so honestly with the very same guy--the one he'd been so sure would give him a black eye for knowing these very secrets that he's compulsively spilling right now.

"Anyway, Robert is just, you know, kind of pretty. And he's so polite and shy and groomed. It was easy to see it working out well for me. Then things spiraled out of control. I guess I've never had a crush before. I didn't realize how confusing they could be. I got so caught up in, like, fulfilling this mission. I didn't realize I'd somehow gotten attached, even though I know how ridiculous it is."

Eames runs his hands through his short, messy hair, but remains quiet.

"Ari and I both agreed at the beginning of the summer that he was the best-looking boy at camp. We kind of worked ourselves into a lather talking about him and how one of us should kiss him before the end of the last session. I guess at some point, I got so excited at the idea of accomplishing that goal that I kind of lost sight of reality."

Eames's mouth turns down in a sympathetic pout. Arthur briefly wonders if the other boy has been eating a Popsicle or something, because his lips are ridiculously red and puffy.

"Anyway, we'd been hanging out kind of a lot and I really thought I was making progress and that he might actually be interested, or--what do you call it--curious, I guess. But it turned out he was just trying to get close to Ari. And now we're all awkward together and I just can't bring myself to tell her why. It's too embarrassing."

"I'm sure she feels awkward, too. I mean wouldn't you, if you'd gotten to him first?" Eames asks.

"No," Arthur replies honestly. "I would have thought I deserved to win. I guess I'm an asshole."

He turns his head to see Eames smirking down at the water below their feet, unable to hide his amusement.

"Anyway, more than losing, more than awkwardness, what really bugs me is that now I'm probably not going to be able to figure it out for a while longer. I'm going to have to come up with a whole other plan for the summer and maybe even wait until college. I just want an answer. I want to know how to plan my life, what to expect. You don't know what it is like where I grew up, Eames. I'd never even seen two guys together--or two girls either--until I went to this concert last Spring. I guess I hadn't even considered it before then. But boy did I consider it after. Christ I'm such a freak. I can't even figure out my own sexuality like everyone else manages to do before they're almost 17 years old."

Eames turns fully to face Arthur, tucking his right leg up under him. He opens his mouth to speak, but pauses for at least a full minute, obviously working out how to say what he's thinking. Arthur has never seen the other boy at a loss for words before.

"Maybe ... maybe you should just accept that you can't plan out this sort of thing, yeah. Maybe it just has to come about naturally." He lifts his hand and hovers it over Arthur's shoulder, touches for a brief second and then lowers it back to the wooden surface. "Love, romance, sex, the whole lot, I don't think you can create a spreadsheet or a flowchart and just make them happen. ... Well, maybe the last one. ... Regardless, Arthur, what I'm trying to say is that it isn't going to bloody well work that way. You just have to be patient and open and see what happens, yeah."

Arthur swallows. The air between them suddenly feels heavy. He's aware that Eames is older and probably far more experienced in every way. Arthur probably seems like a whiny little kid to him.

"Sorry. I know I'm being immature."

"You're not. It sounds ... confusing. I'm just saying that things will work themselves out. It's not like you had one shot and will never get another chance at having a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or whatever you decide you want."

Arthur smiles gratefully. His big confession hadn't been nearly as difficult as he'd imagined it might be just an hour earlier.

He's feeling somewhat better by the time Cobb blows his whistle to end the rest period. Eames seems to have the ability to make Arthur calm and able to look on the bright side of every situation. Arthur doesn't know how he does it.

Unfortunately the good times don't last.

Right in the middle of spooning mac 'n cheese into his mouth poor, homesick Billy throws up all over the floor.

All hell breaks loose.

Yusuf picks Billy up and carries him to the infirmary. Dom and Mal order the other kids to take their dinner trays outside and eat on the grass, while Doug pulls out the mop and bucket to clean up the mess on the floor.

For the rest of the night the DFC boys are giddy with a sense of grotesque excitement that only elementary school boys can truly understand. Arthur and Yusuf take turns attempting to calm the chaos and hiking up to the infirmary to check on Billy--who was allowed to call home and then spent hours crying huge blubbery tears before finally passing out from exhaustion around 1:30.

Arthur hates to admit it, but there is a tiny part of him that is relieved to be free of the counselors shack that night, even if that freedom was paid for in puke. He could't take Ari looking betrayed and he really couldn't take her spending the whole night snuggled up to Robert. 

In the morning, Saito asks Alice to take the DFC boys to their activities along with her group of girls, so that Yusuf and Arthur can finally get some sleep. Arthur feels simultaneously grateful to the camp director for his generosity and gleeful that Alice is going to have to do some actual work for once.

He sleeps in, has the showers to himself, bolts an early lunch and joins the boys for canoeing and swimming in the afternoon. 

It is glorious.

The only downside is that he missed art and the diorama-o-rama. 

They're halfway across the playing fields on their way to soccer, when the sky opens up and soaks them through. Dom comes running down the hill, shouting for the group to head up to the mess hall, which has probably the sturdiest roof in the whole camp.

Yusuf arrives a few minutes later, trailing Eames and Mal.

Doug distributes hot chocolate to the soaked campers while Dom hands out extra clothes from a box in the back storage closet. Mal and Eames line the kids up to take turns changing in the mess hall's two single bathrooms.

The campers send up a whoop when Doug brings his radio out from the kitchen and are beside themselves with excitement when Saito appears with a van-load of pizzas from town. It's probably going to be their favorite night of the whole session.

They split up into groups and wait out the storm playing an old board games salvaged from the storage closet, while boy bands and pop starlets croon in the background.

Arthur feels grateful that he'll once again be spared from watching Ari and Robert cuddle with each other in the shack, as it will be far to wet and muddy to make the trek through the woods once the campers get to bed. But he doesn't account for the counselors gathering back at the mess hall once the campers are safely ensconced in their bunks--wet, muddy and shivering, but determined to keep up the fun.

Ari has her guitar. It's very out of tune due to the changing weather, but she manages to get through a medley of cheesy radio hits that her parents have taught her. Robert sits next to her on the floor and gazes at her fret fingers adoringly. 

If Arthur hadn't seen so much vomit the night before, he might feel nauseous.

He takes the opportunity to sit cross-legged next to Mal, who is picking the pepperoni off of a leftover slice of pizza.

"Hey, how's it going?" he asks, unsure of what on earth to say to a girl who a week ago he thought had it all together and now he knows is falling apart inside.

"Oh Arthur, are you heartbroken about your Ari and her Robert?" Mal asks.

Arthur had been so sure that the French girl had known the truth about his crush, but apparently she was just like everyone else at camp--everyone else but Eames anyway. 

"No, it's fine. I think she's mad at me though," he responds.

"She probably just doesn't know how to tell you that you can still be friends. It will work out, don't worry," she says and pats his cheek.

He sees a potential opportunity and takes it.

"I think it has something to do with the unpleasantness last week. You know ... the pranks. She's mad at me for taking the blame."

Mal doesn't respond, so he plunges ahead.

"You didn't seem too happy about Eames getting you and Dom off the hook, either. Could you explain it to me? Why get mad at a friend trying to save you from suffering?"

Mal narrows her eyes at him and asks: "Did Dominic put you up to this Arthur?"

"What? No. I'm pretty sure he's still pissed at me and doesn't want me talking to you."

"I can decide with whom I'll converse on my own, thank you."

"I know. That's beside my point. I'm just trying to understand why Ari is apparently holding it against me." It's a complete and utter lie. He knows Ari was grateful, probably doubly so now that the time at Saito's house resulted in her dating the best-looking boy at camp.

"I think, sometimes, we do things that are bad because we want people to pay attention to us. When another person takes the blame, they are also taking the credit, no?"

"So you wanted credit for the drawings?"

Her smile is as mysterious as the Mona Lisa's. "Perhaps."

"So should I be on the lookout for another revenge prank, one you can claim credit for this time?" He tries to keep his voice as casual and joking as possible.

"Who knows, Arthur. Maybe. Although I don't think Dominic would be happy with me if I did play a trick on you, or on anyone. He's not too thrilled with me right now, either, if it makes you feel better."

"It doesn't."

She shrugs.

"Listen, let's just leave off the pranks for the rest of the summer, OK? It seems to have screwed up the entire camp's mojo. I don't think we could recover from another round."

"We shall see, Arthur. I make no promises."

It's clearly intended as a dismissal. So Arthur gets up and joins Yusuf, who is leaning against the wall regarding Alice with a mixture of longing and suspicion, while she organizes abandoned game pieces into designs on the floor.

"What's up?" he asks, tilting his head in the direction of Yusuf's attention.

"Eh, just trying to talk myself out of something stupid," he said. "I bet you know all about that, huh?"

Arthur shrugs, "you got me."

At the reference to his own romantic woes, Arthur compulsively glances over to Ari's singing circle, which has been abandoned in favor of a back-rub circle. 

Ugh.

He watches with stomach-clenching horror as Robert leans over Ari's shoulder to nuzzles her cheek then dips his head to give her a quick kiss on the neck. The fact that he does all this while receiving a back rub from Lotte Clarke is just the uncomfortable icing on the sticky sweet cake.

Arthur can feel his face heating up and his breath growing short again.

"How long is it going to take to get past this?" he asks himself sternly. "You really have no right to be acting like this. Get it together!"

He excuses himself to Yusuf, sneaks through the kitchen's swinging doors and walks outside to the small, sheltered loading area.

Somehow it doesn't surprise Arthur that Eames is sitting on the concrete, looking pensively into the stormy night. He's wearing those random galoshes again and idly spinning a pencil in his hand.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Arthur says, sitting down.

"Arthur, what an absolute pleasure," Eames replies with mock formality and a more posh accent than usual. "Do you come here often? It's absolutely the best place in town. Anyone who's anyone will tell you so."

"You are too weird for words."

Eames just shrugs. His usually grinning face takes on a melancholy cast as they quietly gaze at the rivulets of water pouring down the sidewalk beneath them.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Arthur says, suddenly concerned that Eames seems quiet in a different way from his usual supportive silence. "I was just having another one of my immature little bouts of jealousy. Nothing to be too concerned about. I can leave you alone, if you want."

He starts to rise from the concrete, but Eames tugs his arm back down.

"Stay," he instructs, softly. It's almost a question.

They sit quietly for a while, Arthur unsure of how to offer comfort to Eames, who has done so much in the past few days to help him. Eventually, he just decides to say exactly what he's thinking. Eames always seems to know what's on Arthur's mind anyway.

"Look I know I'm a couple of years younger and obviously clueless about many things--mostly myself--but I can listen, too, if you want to talk about whatever's on your mind right now. I probably would have gone insane over the past few days without your help. So, you know, I can try to return the favor."

Eames give him a tiny, sad smile, but remains silent.

Arthur tries to concentrate on the tinny sound of the rain hitting the overhanging eaves, and the slooshing of the water in through the nearby gutter. He remembers that Eames always waits for him to be ready to talk at his own pace. He tries to stay patient, although he worries about Eames never responding. Then he worries about Eames responding with something beyond Arthur's scope of understanding or experience.

After a nearly ten excruciating minutes have passed, Eames hops off the end of the loading dock. He's facing Arthur, so that his back is getting drenched, but his face is dry.

"The thing is Arthur, not everyone thinks the way that you do," he says. "Not everyone thinks that Robert Fisher is the most devastatingly attractive boy at camp."

Then he leans over and brushes his lips against Arthur's cheek, right next to the corner of his mouth.

It's over so fast that Arthur doesn't quite process what just happened until Eames is running down the hill in the rain, galoshes squelching in the muddy grass.


	9. Second session: Confrontation

Arthur's mind goes absolutely blank. 

He has no idea how long sits on the loading dock, staring into space in a state of shock at what happened. 

Eventually he realizes that one thought is repeating itself over and over in his head, like a distant drumbeat slowly increasing in volume: "Eames kissed me, Eames kissed me, Eames kissed me. ..." 

Eventually this tattoo is loud and crashing in the forefront of his mind. His heart rate spikes and he launches himself off the concrete, hellbent on finding Eames and asking him what on earth is going on.

Arthur runs down the hill, certain without being quite sure why that Eames is sheltering in the art hut, and not his own cabin. 

The grass is slippery and sopping wet. Arthur is bristling with anger by the time makes it to the hut and shoves the door open so hard that it swings back on its hinges and smacks the wall. He has mud plastered all the way up to his knees and splattered across his arms. He's soaked and ready to snap.

"What the fuck Eames!" he shouts.

Eames is sitting in the corner leaning over an open sketchbook. He looks up with huge, sad eyes. 

Arthur doesn't like seeing the normally brimming-with-confidence art counselor so contrite and scared. He dislikes knowing that he's the reason for that expression, too. But his hatred of being caught so completely flat footed outweighs his sympathy at the moment. 

"All this time you've been listening to my angsty bullshit, letting me pour my heart out, and you never thought to mention that ... that, that you knew exactly what I was going through? I mean am I reading this wrong? Because it's pretty unfair for you to just sit there playing the sympathetic-listening-ear Mr. Nice Guy when you could have been ..."

"Could have been what?" Eames asks when Arthur trails off. His face is now hard and cold, emotions hidden. "Ready to step in and let you use me to fulfill your little quest, regardless of what I myself may have wanted?"

Eames stands and Arthur steps toward him, not wanting to act intimidated. He's fairly certain this confrontation isn't going to get physical, but if it does he's not going to back away.

He knows he should ask what it is that Eames wants after that statement. But he's not ready to hear the answer. He's still holding on to his anger and frustration. So instead he says: "No Eames, because I've been trying to figure this out pretty much on my own. I mean Ari has been very supportive, but she can't really understand. And only one other person in the whole world even knows, and now I find out all this time you could have talked to me honestly, helped me, offered me more-personal advice, and you just chose not to do it for some reason."

Eames's hardened face falls the tiniest bit. 

"Arthur, it's not like that. Until you told me that you were new to this, or still unsure, I just figured you were the kind of guy who doesn't even realize how goergeous he is and who wastes his time with a hopeless crush on a straight friend with a pretty face. Hardly the newest story in the world, is it? I didn't know you were, well, struggling. I just thought you were pining."

"Fine," Arthur says, electric anger still fizzling though his nerve endings. He's not going to let Eames calling him gorgeous derail this conversation, no matter how flattering it feels. "Even so, didn't you want to, I don't know, commiserate with me or at least not keep your own sexuality a fucking secret? I mean what was the point in that, huh?"

Eames looks at the floor, his shoulders rounding and his posture instantly changing from ready-to-fight to wants-to-curl-into-a-ball-and-hide.

"Because sometimes people assume that if you like other blokes that you'll be happy to just be at their beck and call, begging for table scraps, because what other choice do you have."

"Huh? I don't even understand what that means, Eames."

"Look, I thought you might have known. I was always flirting with you, right. And sometimes, anyway, it seemed like you were flirting back. ..."

Arthur interrupts: "That was flirting? I thought you were just being an asshole."

"Yeah, well, I never said I was any good at it, did I?" Eames shrugs and looks at the floor again. "Look, I guess you can't understand, but in my experience, other people finding out that you like boys opens the door to people thinking that they can use you to get off, because you're so eager for it that you won't say no."

"What are you saying, Eames?"

"I'm saying that I fancy you, OK?" Eames' voice is quiet, but defiant, challenging Arthur to scoff at this declaration. "And I thought that if I told you, you would only want to get together with me to vent your frustrations about not being able to have Robert. I wanted to make you like me for me, you know?"

"You're kind of an idiot," Arthur responds, but his tone is kind.

"I thought Sunday night when we were down here that I was maybe getting close to finally getting somewhere with you, on my own merit, not as a second choice. But then after everything you said Monday by the lake, I just couldn't, I wasn't ever going to tell you after that. I knew what you'd think. 'Oh perfect! Now this Eames fellow can snog me and help me figure out all of my problems.'"

"But Eames, what's wrong with that?"

"Everything Arthur, can't you see? You fancy Robert, right. Well what if someone dared him to kiss you, or he lost a bet and had to do it? Would you like that? I mean, yes, you'd get to snog him, but it wouldn't be authentic, would it?"

"Well so what? You're being ridiculous Eames. If a week ago Robert offered to kiss me as part of some sort of dare, I would have done it in a fucking heartbeat. I would have done it and hoped that maybe, just maybe, it would be good enough that he'd want to do it again."

"Yeah, well, I know all about that road. Been down it a thousand times. I've no interest in traveling it again, thanks."

Arthur's heart is racing now. At some point he stopped feeling furious and started feeling nervous and short of breath. Here he is, so close to succeeding in the thing he set out to accomplish, and he wants so badly to just close the gap between them and see what happens. But he also doesn't want to damage this fragile peace he's reached with Eames, who clearly needs to know that he's important to Arthur as more than just wish fulfillment.

"Well if you think kissing me is such a horrible idea, Eames," Arthur says and takes a step closer, "then why did you do it?"

"Couldn't help myself. I wish I hadn't done." 

Arthur takes another tiny step closer.

"Seriously?"

Eames is looking at him with an expression of pure agony on his face. 

"Arthur don't," he begs. "Please. Please don't do this to me. It's not nice."

"Eames," Arthur says. "I'm not going to kiss you..."

Eames lets out a relieved breath, but he also frowns a tiny bit with what looks like regret.

"...But I would very much like you to kiss me, if you want."

Eames doesn't move a muscle, so Arthur continues. 

"You have been the very best part of camp for me pretty much since that day in Saito's office, or at least since we made that enormous fucking omelet last weekend."

Eames chuckles slightly at this memory.

"I was just thinking yesterday how even if I could go back in time and prevent the pranks, prevent being grounded from Saito's house, I wouldn't do it. I'm not going to say you're the only reason, but you're a big one. You were so nice to me. Yes, I know you hate being called nice. But you were. You listened and gave me advice and just let me be comfortable--with myself, with you. The only time I wasn't utterly lost in my own angst was when we were hanging out--and I guess when I was dealing with poor fucking homesick Billy, but that was, like, a whole other source of agony. What I'm saying is, so fucking what if you had a ... you know, crush on me and I had one on someone else. I do like you as a person, the person I think is my friend. So why don't you give me a chance? Isn't it obvious by now that I have no fucking idea what I'm doing or how any of this works? You can't hold that against me, can you?"

"Fucking Hell, Arthur," Eames says, as he closes the distance between them. He puts his hand on Arthur's shoulder so lightly that it barely registers, then removes it just as fast. He pauses, looking momentarily terrified, then licks his lips and leans forward to gently press them against Arthur's.

Even though he knew it was coming--goaded it into happening, even--Arthur still gasps at the contact. And this little intake of air allows his mouth to open just enough for Eames to run his tongue along the inside of Arthur's lips.

Arthur's brain shuts down.

He losese all track of time as he kisses Eames in return. For the first time ever he isn't thinking about what he's doing, where his tongue should be, if his nose is at an awkward angle, or any of the other mental stumbling blocks that had occupied his mind while kissing other people.

Everything just feels moist and slippery and warm and deliciously tingly.

Eames makes a pained little moaning noise in the back of his throat and Arthur breaks away to look at him. 

He notices that Eames's hands are clenched in white-knuckle-tight fists at his sides and that he's breathing hard, as if he just ran a race. 

"He's scared to touch me," Arthur thinks. "He's holding himself back."

This thought makes Arthur weak at the knees. 

He hasn't imagined anything beyond accomplishing this goal. He now realizes that a huge part of him had suspected that kissing a boy wouldn't feel any different than kissing girls had and that maybe he just wasn't cut out for sex. He hadn't thought this through any further, because he didn't think it could happen. 

Obviously that is not the case.

Arthur realizes--belatedly, all things considered--that he's more than half hard inside his shorts and that his own breath is somewhat labored. Kissing has never made either of these things happen before. Ever.

Part of him is mentally jumping up and down shouting "Hallelujah" at having finally solved this mystery. The other part is clenching in knots worrying about all of the new potential problems this brings to light. 

He decides he needs more kissing before he wants to think about the larger implications of the situation.

"Eames," he says, and his own voice sounds breathy and foreign. He reaches out a hand and tentatively places it on the side of Eames's head, thumb slowly stroking behind his ear. He uses this leverage to tug the other boy slightly forward. Eames follows the pressure and leans in to kiss Arthur again, running his hands up the sides of Arthur's arms so lightly that it makes him shiver.

Arthur feels lightheaded at the rush of sensations traveling from his mouth and reverberating throughout his entire body. Eames' lips are so soft and his tongue is slippery and velvety. Feeling it swirl around his own mouth and rub up against his own tongue is possibly the best thing Arthur has ever felt in his entire life, as completely ridiculous as that sounds even in the confines of his own mind.

Eames grips Arthur's shoulder with one firm hand and runs the other through Arthur's hair. The sensation is amazing. 

Arthur realizes that he's moaning softly into Eames's mouth. Eames must have heard it, too, because he grips Arthur more tightly and pulls him closer, while simultaneously easing himself backward to lean against the nearest table. Unconsciously, Arthur steps forward without breaking the delicious kiss. Eames's legs automatically part to allow Arthur to move nearer. Their bodies push together and suddenly Arthur feels his erection push against something firm and he realizes--unable to stop himself from gasping--that it Eames's dick, also hard. 

Eames moans, just as Arthur breaks the kiss and steps back. 

He's breathing like a sprinter and his heart is thudding in his chest. As amazing as that brief, accidental instant of contact felt, he wasn't prepared for it, and it kind of scares him.

"I'm sorry," Arthur pants, barely able to form words. "I'm not, I'm not ready for ... "

Eames holds up both hands in a sign of surrender and shifts so he's standing away from the table. 

"It's OK," he says, voice ragged. "I know this is new for you. No worries. We can stop. ... I can stop."

He backs up slowly and sits down by the sketchbook again, gesturing for Arthur to take a seat on the other side of the table.

The silence isn't exactly uncomfortable. But it isn't the relaxed companionship that they'd enjoyed on previous days, either. 

Eventually Eames breaks it, saying: "So, I don't know what you thought, but that was fucking amazing by my book. God, Arthur, you are really sexy and I don't think you even know." 

He turns and grins at Arthur, cheeks pink and eyes shining. Arthur has to fight himself not to leap over the table. Instead, he responds with a smile that hopefully isn't too dorky in it's undisguised happiness.

"Yeah, I think that cleared some things up for me," Arthur says, and then can't help laughing at his own ridiculousness. 

Eames joins in and pretty soon they are both consumed with the giggles, unable to stop laughing, unable to explain what's even funny. 

Finally they slow down and Eames, hunched over his own knees and gasping for breath, says, "I hate to be the guy who says, 'so what now,' but ... so what now?"

Arthur shrugs. Then he worries that his response was too nonchalant.

"I, uh, I'd like to do that again," he says. "But I ... well ... OK so now I know that I like kissing boys, or at least one particular boy ..."

He pauses, distracted by the fact that Eames is blushing bright red.

"... But that doesn't mean I'm ready to just jump in to ... well I don't really know what my limits are. I mean, I feel stupid saying it, but everything is still kind of scary at the moment. I didn't really think about it beyond this moment, to be perfectly honest."

"OK." 

Eames looks very solemn and Arthur wants to see him laugh again.

"Why? What do you want to happen now?" he asks, even though he is afraid of the answer. Eames is two years older than Arthur and apparently not at all confused about his sexuality. Arthur's body is already thrumming with the desire to kiss Eames again. But he's unsure about anything that might happen beyond that and doesn't think Eames will be satisfied with eight weeks of just making out. 

"Well," Eames replies, tone carefully measured. "What I'd really like is to be your boyfriend. Failing that, I'd like be your friend--but with no more yelling, just you know relaxed, like we were earlier in the week. Failing that, well, I might have to go back to teasing you mercilessly." 

Arthur desperately wants to say he'll take the first option. But he's afraid of what he might get himself into, worried he'll be promising more than he can commit to right now. 

"Let me think about it," he says, instead. 

Arthur tries not to dwell on Eames's face, which he's failing to prevent from looking crestfallen. 

"In that case, can I kiss you one more time, just in case I never get to do it again?" 

"Don't be dramatic Eames," Arthur replies, and leans over the table to meet Eames halfway. 

"You have no grounds to stand on when it comes to accusations of drama, Arthur," Eames replies and sucks Arthur's bottom lip gently into his mouth.

Even with the hard edge of a table pressing against his stomach, Arthur finds their third kiss every bit as heady as the previous two. He's completely lost in sensation, to the point where several minutes later he realizes that he's lifted one leg to kneel on the tabletop for better leverage, but he doesn't have any recollection of doing it.

Arthur pulls back, breath ragged, and notices that Eames is gripping the table so hard that it must be painful, knuckles white. Once again, the older boy appears to be holding himself back from touching Arthur anywhere beyond the kiss.

Arthur reaches out and strokes the back of Eames's right hand with his own. Then he lowers himself from the table and says, "I'd better go. I ... I'm sorry. I just need to think this through. I'm a bit ... It's a lot to swallow ... Oh God! ... Not that ... I mean a lot to, you know, process."

Unbelievably, Eames doesn't laugh at Arthur's accidental double entendre. But he does direct a smirk down at the table in a not-entirely-successful attempt to hide his amusement. Arthur appreciates the effort anyway.

"Yeah, all right. We can talk later?" Eames asks, biting his lip and looking up, now wearing an earnest expression.

"OK, yeah, later, sure. I just have to ..." Arthur flails his hands awkwardly in the direction of the door, unable to express himself properly in the wake of everything that just happened.

"Process," Eames supplies, smiling fondly.

"Yeah, that."

Arthur is halfway out the door when Eames calls his name.

"Here take this," he says, tossing Arthur one of the towels from the stack by the corner sink. "You're a bloody mess."

Arthur looks down at the dried mud caked on his limbs.

"Fuck. I look like I just tunneled out of prison or something," he laughs. "Thanks."

"Do you want to wear my Wellies back up the hill? I can go barefoot."

"Your what?" Arthur asks. "Oh ... No. These shoes are pretty in pretty dire shape anyway. No point in trying to save them. ... Uh thanks though. I'll, uh, towel off on the porch, I guess. Smart thinking."

They smile at each other, almost shyly, from opposite sides of the room before Arthur turns and braves the storm that's still raging outside.


	10. Second session: An awkward encounter

When Arthur wakes up in the morning, he can't immediately recall why there are butterflies dancing around in his stomach.

"Fuck!" he says out loud when the memories of the previous night's stop-and-start make-out session with Eames flood back to the forefront of his mind. Naturally the interjection elicits giggles from the few campers who are awake before the bell. It turns out eight year olds are a lot more easily shocked than 12 year olds. 

He's sort of astounded that his sleeping mind could have forgotten the previous night's events, however temporarily. But he's grateful that he didn't spend all night re-living them in his dreams. He almost certainly would have come in sleep pants, leading to an embarrassing morning. Arthur supposes that he'd been so exhausted and overwhelmed that he'd fallen asleep more-or-less instantaneously after falling into his cot, because he doesn't remember anything beyond attempting to remove the mud from his body out on the porch.

Deep breath.

He glances at his watch, hoping to head over to the showers before breakfast. Toweling off had helped remove the worst of the caked-on mud from Arthur's arms and legs, but he still feels gross and vaguely sticky, like the floor of a movie theater. There is definitely mud attached to his leg and arms hairs that nothing short of a hot shower will remove.

Unfortunately, just then the bell rings, meaning Arthur will have to beg Yusuf or Alice or some other counselor to manage his campers while he tries to sneak into the morning shower shift.

Most days, Arthur thinks DFC lucked out when it was assigned shower time after dinner. He doesn't have to go to sleep all sweaty or smelling like dried lake water. OK yes, his pillow permanently reeks like a campfire. But up to now it has seemed a fair tradeoff, all things considered. But today, whatever else happens after breakfast, Arthur simply won't accept running around all day with dried mud flaking off his body. It's too much to ask of anyone, really. He's going to have to finagle his way into a shower.

Arthur doesn't see Eames at breakfast and briefly worries that the other boy fell asleep down in the art hut. But he looks over at Patrick, who is calmly slicing banana into his cereal, and figures Eames probably hasn't gone missing or the junior counselor would definitely seem more concerned.

Then Arthur wonders if Eames is off freaking out somewhere about what happened last night--either regretting it or wishing he'd pushed Arthur for more.

Arthur's too busy trying to rush the boys through breakfast in time for him to pop over to the showers to dwell on this possibility for too long. Besides, Eames doesn't seem the type to pout in isolation. Also, he'd acted perfectly willing to wait for Arthur to come to terms with everything that last night's activities had brought to light. He doubts Eames would change his mind that quickly, especially if he'd been at least sort of crushing on Arthur the whole summer.

"Speaking of crushes," Arthur thinks as he turns and glances at Robert Fischer's table.

To Arthur's abject horror, Ari is rubbing Robert's shoulders and leaning over his left side to accept a spoonful of scrambled eggs from his spoon.

"Ewwww! God they are really getting gross. Even if I hadn't had a thing for him that little display would make me gag," Arthur thinks, horrified.

And suddenly, Arthur realizes that his feelings for Robert have completely disappeared over night. He's been trying to remind himself for days that the crush was born mostly out of an opportunistic hope that Robert might be open to Arthur's experimentation. But it hadn't really made sense until last night that it really was meaningless--easy come, easy go.

OK, yes, Robert is definitely pretty--by any definition of the word. But everything about Eames is so much better and Arthur's reactions to him are infinitely more visceral, not theoretical, as they were about Robert.

Just thinking about Eames makes Arthur's body do strange things--his stomach swoops, his balls retract slightly against his legs. The only term Arthur can use to describe it is a kind of terrified excitement. Eames is without a doubt the sexiest person Arthur has ever encountered in his nearly 17 years. Even though Arthur's still very unsure of what he wants to happen between he and Eames, Arthur can't deny that the other boy oozes an easy sensuality. Arthur's mystified that he didn't see it before. Not to mention the fact that Eames is also funny and kind and patient and seems to be an all-around a much better person than nearly anyone else at camp. No one else seems to have noticed Mal's stress. No one else asks Arthur all the right questions and was able to see through the tangle of his mind right to his very core.

"I'm so fucking clueless; I should have my head examined," Arthur chastises himself.

He's staring dumbfounded at his plate of eggs when Yusuf flicks him gently on the back of the head.

"Playing fields are soaked through," he says. "We're supposed to gather in the drama centre until lunch."

"Awesome. Then you can do me a huge favor."

"Oh I can, can I?"

"I really need a fu- ... a freaking shower. Can you take the kids over while I go get cleaned up?" he asks, pointing out his still-dirty legs and holding up his arms for inspection.

"My God man, what on earth happened to you?"

"You're just now noticing this?"

"Bugger off. I was tired. Seriously how did you get so grotty?"

"I tried to start a mud wrestling tournament. Didn't take," Arthur deadpans.

"Too bad. I wouldn't have minded seeing a few of these ladies rolling around in the muck, know what I mean?" Yusuf winks exaggeratedly.

Arthur sighs and raises his eyebrow instead of repeating his question.

"Yeah, yeah go on."

Arthur abandons his half-eaten breakfast and hustles for the door, barely staying within the bounds of Doug's strict no-running rule. Once he escapes the mess hall, Arthur actually sprints down to his cabin to retrieve fresh clothes. He feels like he can't get his head straight until he's free of the dirt and grime of the previous night. He pushes into the shower hut, so eager to get clean that he's hardly aware of his surroundings. But as soon as the door swings shut behind him, he stops short, nearly getting clipped in the heel.

Eames is standing in front of the bank of sinks--shirtless, towel slung low over his hips and shaving.

Arthur just stands there stupidly with his mouth hanging open. He desperately wants to walk back out the way he came, but is rooted to the spot, unable to move backward or forward.

Eames looks up and utters a soft "oh." Even with his face half covered in soap suds, Arthur can see a blush rising from Eames's neck and spreading across his cheeks.

"I guess great minds think alike," he finally says and manages a cheeky smile in Arthur's direction.

"I, uh, I didn't know you'd be in here," Arthur responds, then immediately berates himself for stating the obvious.

"I never would have guessed, given the expression on your face right now," Eames has apparently recovered from his embarrassment enough to turn the full force of his teasing on Arthur, who is not at all in a mental state to defend himself.

Arthur can't tear his eyes away from the planes of Eames's nearly hairless, tattooed chest, or from the hip bones peeking out from behind the folded-over top of the towel. 

Part of him longs to cross the room and run his hands over Eames's body, knowing it would elicit an even more delicious response from the kissing of the night before. But the other half of Arthur is terrified of the very idea of seeing Eames so close to naked--which is ridiculous, since they've definitely been swimming together many times this summer. 

He is more confused about and scared of his own feelings than he has been at any point since the night of the concert, back when he issued himself the summer challenge.

"A challenge you've now accomplished, as of last night," Arthur reminds himself. "And you really need to figure out what the fuck that means and how to move on from there, before you make an even bigger mess of this experiment than you could have by nearly throwing yourself at Robert."

Eames surely notices Arthur's eyes practically mauling him in the mirror, because the blush spreads down his chest. But he valiantly pretends that they're just exchanging their usual snarky banter.

"It seems so very like you to have orchestrated this whole thing, including the rain storm and my own dramatic exit through the muddiest part of camp, just to have a chance to spy on me in the showers. You only had to ask, Arthur," he says and places his hand on the knot of his towel while he wiggles his hips like a dancer.

"Don't!" Arthur interjects and is immediately mortified.

"I'm only playing, Arthur," Eames says. "Go on, get in the shower. I promise I'll close my eyes."

"I ... but ... can come back?" Arthur spits out.

"I'm fairly certain you just asked if you should come back. The answer is no. Just go hop into one of the stalls. I won't peek if you take off your kit before you go in. Or take it off inside. I don't care. You can tell me when it's safe to open again."

"I uh, are you sure?"

"Arthur, when I asked you if we could talk more later, cornering you while half naked in the shower wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Relax. As soon as I've finished up here I'll get dressed and head off. You can even try to peek at me through the cracks in the wooden slats. I don't mind."

"Bullshit," Arthur says, annoyance with Eames's faux-casual attitude finally jolting back his powers of speech. "You were blushing and you know it. Don't pretend I'm the only one who's embarrassed here."

"I will confess that while I've had many, many thoughts about you seeing me without my trousers on--thoughts that we can take our time working up to perhaps," Eamse adds, holding his hands up in the same gesture of surrender as he had the previous night, "this awkward scenario isn't quite what I had in mind."

Arthur desperately wants to know what Eames did have in mind when it came to fantasies of being pants-less around him. But he is once again very aware of their nearly two-year age difference and of the fact that Eames doesn't seem to have a second of doubt when it comes to knowing who attracts him. Arthur definitely isn't ready to talk about whatever it is the Eames has imagined doing with him, _or to him_. But he can't help but wonder.

"I don't want to hear about your sordid fantasies, Eames," Arthur responds, tone as dry as he can manage under the circumstances.

"Oh I just bet you don't," Eames says, and then makes a show of covering his eyes with both hands.

Arthur walks to the furthest stall and makes sure it's locked behind him before he removes his dirty clothes and tosses them outside on the floor. He hangs his clean ones over the back of the door, covering them with his towel, and turns on the water before shouting out to Eames: "You better just now be uncovering your eyes, buddy."

"Arthur I know we haven't figured this thing between us out, but I know that if there is one thing I don't want to be, it's your _buddy_ ," Eames says, with a note of mocking disdain on the final word.

"My point still stands, Eames."

"Yes, yes, Arthur. I am a man of my word--at least when it counts. I kept them covered the whole time. Your boyish virtue is preserved."

"I'm going to fucking kill you, Eames."

"I rather wish you wouldn't. I have such plans for us and none of them involve me being dead. Is that the kind of thing you're into? I'm afraid I'd read you all wrong."

"Jesus Christ! Are you almost done? You're incorrigible. I can't say a damn thing without you purposefully misconstruing it."

"Oh you love it and we both know it. Yes. Nearly done. I'm just going to put on my pants and shorts, so now's the moment to press your eye to the crack if you're going to check out your options while you still can."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Arthur responds, although it's technically a lie. He must admit to being tempted, but his nervousness outweighs his curiosity. He closes his eyes--just in case.

"All righty, I'm leaving," Eames says seconds later.

"Wait, Eames," Arthur calls out.

"Arthur I'm afraid you missed your window. You'll just have to manufacture another reason to see me starkers. I'm sure it won't be too difficult."

" _No_! No it's just that, events are canceled, due to the muddy fields. We're supposed to meet in the drama centre."

"Cheers Arthur. See you there."

When he hears the door swing shut, Arthur slumps against the wooden wall of the shower stall and lets out a deep breath.

He feels so lost right now. He can't understand how a week, or two, or three, ago he'd never paid any attention to Eames's defined cheekbones and pouty lips, or thought about the fact that Eames has such a perfectly sculpted-looking body when they went swimming together. But one night of kissing and he hadn't been able to tear his eyes away from that mirror where Eames was shaving just minutes earlier.

"How is my brain so slow on the uptake?" he asks himself "Where did that sudden flare of desire come from, when it never existed before?"

Arthur feels so unprepared to navigate the rough waters ahead of him in pursuing some sort of relationship withe Eames. But he is compulsively unable to let go of the idea, either.

"I'm so fucked," he thinks.


	11. Second Session: Defining the Relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains mentions of a very manipulative past relationship.

It hasn't escaped Arthur's notice that Eames has been giving him a wide berth all day, since their encounter in the showers. He's pretty sure Eames is just trying to give him the time and space that Arthur indirectly asked for by saying he needed to think about their future the previous night. But it does leave him feeling a little left out at the shack when Eames decides to head to bed along with the campers. Arthur realizes that he's spent nearly every night of the past few weeks hanging out with either Ari, Eames or _sigh_ Robert, and is at a bit at a loss on his own. 

Arthur knows that he has to bury the hatchet with Ari. She's obviously pissed at him. If he's being honest, he can admit that he probably at least partially deserves her wrath. But he can't bring himself to do it just yet. It's weird, but he feels like he has to work this thing out with Eames before he tells her about it, otherwise she might think his apology is a selfishly motivated excuse to plead for advice. Otherwise it might actually be one.

He sees Mal sitting in the corner leafing through the pages of the play she's been coaching the campers on for the next parent's weekend, and decides to take another shot at reaching out to her.

"Hey," he says, sitting down next to the French girl.

"Arthur," she says, her tone dry as a desert. "How lovely to see you again."

Her response is so uninviting that Arthur almost stands up and walks away. But he still feels bizarrely responsible for helping Mal, if only because so few people realize that she's unhappy. It's too bad that as far as he knows, they have almost nothing in common outside of this job, which Mal apparently hates. He really has no idea what on earth to say to her, considering that he has no fucking clue what's making her so miserable. But he feels obligated to try broaching the subject anyway.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" he asks.

"Arthur, I'm very flattered, but you know I'm with Dom and you are much too young for me."

"Don't pretend to be dense Mal. We both know it's nothing like that. I just want to talk privately."

"Yes, well, I do not. What is it you wish to say to me?"

This throws him for a loop. Nothing attracts attention in the shack like showing emotion or weakness. Most of the staff are good people--that asshole Nash very much excepted--but they usually can't resist the urge to prod and tease at the slightest sign of discomfort. They aren't sharks scenting blood in the water. But they are insects flocking to sugar. Arthur will have to choose his words carefully and keep his tone casual.

"I just wanted to uh ... check in on you ... see if you, are ... well, if you're OK. It's just that you seem pretty unhappy and I don't think many people have noticed."

She jerks her head up so that their faces are even. Her mouth is a hard line, but her eyes are wide and frightened. 

"No. My happiness is not bubbling over at the moment. But sometimes that is life, yes."

"Yeah, sometimes it is. But I just, uh, wanted you to know that we could talk about it ... if you want. Not only now, but whenever."

"I appreciate the offer, Arthur. I shall take it into consideration." 

Arthur can't help but admire her ability to answer his question and be undeniably dismissive at the same time. It must be a French thing.

Arthur realizes that he wishes he could talk to Eames about this attempted conversation. Eames would probably make a hilarious comment about Mal's mannerisms, while still offering blinding insight into her motivations. Eames always seems to find the most interesting, or hilarious, or interestingly hilarious thing to say about any given situation. 

"Oh Lord, you've got to keep yourself in check about this," Arthur tells himself. "You just wasted half your summer mooning over someone unavailable, don't fall into a similar trap by getting obsessed with the first guy to come along whose actually interested."

But as much as Arthur tells himself that he should be cautious about whatever is building between he and Eames, another part of him knows that this is more than just another aimless crush. He doesn't have much of an idea of what it actually is though. But the fact that he and Eames are actually friends, and that Eames knows pretty much Arthur's whole story and still wants to give this a shot, tells Arthur that their interactions have to be filed in a different mental folder from his completely misunderstood and embarrassing attempts at flirtation with Robert.

"I just wish I knew as much about him as he knows about me," Arthur thinks. "I feel so exposed and clueless about what he expects. What if I get in over my head? God, I'm such a loser. A normal person my age would be jumping into this with both feet."

Arthur feels overcome with restlessness all of a sudden. He can't stop obsessing over what the fuck he's going to do about Eames and all the ways he's probably either one step away from fucking everything up or getting out of his depth very, very quickly. 

Eames is like a riptide, able to fool Arthur into thinking he's moving in one direction, when he's actually going a different way entirely. How had he managed to make Arthur think he was a jerk, when he was actually the nicest person at camp? How does he manage to make Arthur feel like an inexperienced child at the same time as he makes Arthur feel unbelievably desirable? 

Eames was like swimming in a beautiful, but likely shark-infested lagoon on a tropical island. He was so tempting, but Arthur knew Eames could probably slice him open and leave him bleeding out in the water--metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Stop being so fucking dramatic," Arthur chastises himself. "You know you just have to talk to him. He's ridiculously easy to talk to. Just stop being a wimp and go do it already. You're going to have to do it sooner or later. Just rip the fucking Band-Aid off."

He excuses himself from the shack, not that anyone other than Mal probably notices.

If he's being entirely, brutally honest with himself, Arthur is kind of terrified of this conversation. He knows that he needs to ask Eames what he's looking for in this theoretical boyfriend situation, but he doesn't really want to hear the answer. He feels simultaneously like he's jumping out his skin with longing to kiss Eames again and like he's totally unprepared for any of this.

He checks his watch. The camper's have been in bed for over an hour; they're probably mostly asleep at this point. 

"It's now or never," Arthur whispers to himself and marches up to the main camp. 

Near the flagpole he runs into a very sullen-looking Nash. He really hates cutting that asshole any slack, but he likes the idea of Nash wandering around the cabins while Arthur tries to wake Eames and have a serious conversation with him even less.

"Hey, I can take your spot, if you want," he says. "I'm not really feeling it down at the shack tonight."

"Seriously? You fucking with me?"

Deep rage-controlling breath.

"No. Go ahead. I'll take guard duty."

"Fucking sweet man. Thanks!"

"Don't mention it," Arthur replies, adding "ever again" under his breath.

He walks around for a bit until he spots the other on-duty junior counselor, Taryn, and relieves her, too. Then he walks to the side window of Eames's cabin and presses his face to the screen. He's aware that it's kind of creepy to for-all-intents-and-purposes spy on his potential boyfriend. But he also knows that he could cause trouble by knocking while Eames is in the middle of disciplining his campers or comforting a homesick kid. 

It turns out that Eames is actually asleep. He's wearing Adidas track pants and a wife-beater and is turned slightly on his side, facing Arthur. His hand is curled up next to his face, which is utterly relaxed, lips slightly parted, cheekbones exaggerated by the low light. Arthur is once again startled by how beautiful Eames looks, and by how it took him so long to see it. One of Eames' legs is hanging slightly off the side of the bed, ankle lax and dangling. 

He feels a surge of longing course through his body. Part of Arthur wants to abandon the necessary talking and just crawl through the window to wake Eames up by kissing those sinful lips. But that might be cruel, considering how Eames clearly wants an answer to his declaration, and probably a verbal one. Also, it might be sort of stalker-ish.

Deep breath. 

Arthur reaches up and raps his right knuckles on the window frame. Then he steps back, so that Eames won't automatically know Arthur watched him sleep. There's no immediate response, so Arthur knocks again. This time he hears rustling inside and the bed creaks, probably from Eames sitting up, but Arthur can't really see inside the room anymore so he isn't sure what's happening.

"Out here," Arthur stage whispers. "It's me, Arthur." He leans forward again, so Eames can see his face behind the screen.

"Blimey, Arthur you gave me a bit of a fright." 

Eames gets out of bed and stands near the window. 

"So have you come to whisk me off into the night and steal my virtue?"

"I think that would work better the other way around, Eames," Arthur quips back and is immediately horrified with himself for being so open about his own inexperience, even if it's something Eames already knows anyway.

"Arthur," Eames practically purrs, making Arthur's face feel hot. "You know I would never steal anything so precious."

Arthur's knees feel weak and the ability to speak flies right out of his head. 

"I ... uh ... that's not exactly ... not why ... I just wanted to ... you know."

"Talk?"

"Yes."

"You know you really are adorable when you lose coherency."

That snaps Arthur back to himself.

"Just because you're a good kisser doesn't mean I'm not willing to walk away and never look back if you keep patronizing me, Eames."

"Oh Arthur, I would never patronize you. I think much too highly of you for that. I just can't help being charmed by your getting flustered. If it helps, I'm charmed by your threats, too."

"It doesn't. Charming was not even close to what I was going for."

"Oh?"

"No, more like terrifyingly in control and beholden to no one."

"That's your operating principle, Arthur? Icy isolation? I'd hate to say something mean, such as that explains so much. I'd really hate to have to say something like that." 

Arthur can't help letting his face fall a little at Eames' remark, even though he knows the other boy was only joking, there is a hint of truth there that Eames, with all his insight, would never have missed.

"Hey," Eames says, and raises his hand to stroke the screen where it touches Arthur's face. "I was only teasing. It's just a game, yeah."

Arthur's eyes are looking everywhere but back at Eames. He suddenly feels very young and very silly.

"Oh Arthur, sweetheart, please don't misinterpret. I was only trying to give as good as I got."

Arthur doesn't know if Eames offered him this banter equivalent of low-hanging fruit on purpose, or if he's just too contrite to pay attention. Regardless, Arthur will take it..

"Yeah, well, you'd better," he mumbles. 

Eames chuckles and says: "Arthur! I'm scandalized," as he clutches imaginary pearls around his neck. Then his face changes to the softer, more seductive look he wore right before kissing Arthur in the art hut. "Does this mean I can entice you into my boudoir?" 

"I think you'd better come out here, Eames."

"I suppose I better had, Arthur. Hold on a tick," he says and crosses the room to put on his shoes. Arthur watches how Eames meticulously does up the laces on his precious "trainers" and then smooths his hands upward across his face and through his hair. His back is turned, so Arthur can't see Eames's expression, but he senses that Eames is trying to make himself look nice. Heat pools in Arthur's stomach at the thought that this gorgeous older boy is trying to impress him.

Arthur steps back to allow the other boy to drop through the window. Eames walks toward him, hesitates, and then reaches out to wrap his hand around Arthur's.

"This OK?" Eames asks, and even in the dark Arthur can see a blush rising on his cheeks. Arthur nods and laces their fingers together. 

"I, uh, told the junior counselors on duty that I'd, uh, take over for them, so we'd better, you know, stay around here," he says, although he'd very badly like to retreat to the art hut for this talk. Arthur realizes that he's beginning to think of it as "their place." Oh God, he's such a dork. 

"All right," Eames says, and leads them over Arthur's cabin's front porch, where he sits on the middle step and pulls Arthur down to sit next to him. In a horrifying moment of clumsiness Arthur nearly lands in his lap, before righting himself. He normally has excellent balance, but proximity to Eames must do the same thing to Arthur's inner ear that it does to his brain's speech center.

Eames huffs a short laugh. 

"So, what is it that you would like to discuss, Arthur?" he asks, once again drawing Arthur's name out into more than two syllables. 

Arthur is overwhelmed with anxiety about where this conversation needs to go. He could be putting the nail in his own metaphorical coffin, killing off this relationship before it even starts. He squeezes Eames' hand and then detaches himself, not wanting to feel Eames do it first.

"Well I, uh ... you said, the other day, you know when we were," he flails his now-free hand in the downhill direction of the art hut.

Eames smirks at him and says, "snogging in the art hut?"

"Yeah, that. I think that's what you mean anyway. Well you said you wanted ... wanted to be my, you know, boyfriend," he practically whispers this last word, afraid that he'd somehow misheard or misinterpreted Eames' earlier remark, or that Eames had changed his mind in the interim. 

"I did say that, yes."

"Well I think that I might kind of like that idea, if you hadn't already guessed," he glances at Eames's hand, which is now resting on his own thigh. "But I have to ask you some stuff first."

He isn't sure how to read the expression on Eames's face, but the older boy nods slowly, cautiously. 

Arthur has to steel himself to proceed. He really doesn't want to ask about Eames' romantic past, let alone his physical expectations for a relationship. But he knows he won't be able to relax, to enjoy himself, with Eames until he knows the answers to his enquiries. Arthur is nothing if not a planner, and apparently that trait extends to dating, too.

He takes a deep breath--deep enough to be visible to Eames, who tenses slightly in nervous anticipation. 

"I kind of feel like you know everything about me, like I spilled my guts to you before I even knew this was a possibility," he holds up a very-close-to-steady hand to prevent Eames from interrupting, "which I forgive you for, obviously. But I can't help feeling like we're on uneven ground as a result. So I'm going to need you to level it out, so to speak."

"Arthur," Eames says and then takes a long pause, in which he shifts up one stair, giving himself the height advantage. "If things go well between us, I'm sure I'll be happy to tell you everything you want to know, but doesn't it seem a little, well, invasive to have to know about all my old heartaches right off the bat?"

"Was it invasive when I told you all about Robert and about how I'd never kissed a boy before and how it didn't even occur to me until last Spring? Huh? Because that was really personal shit, Eames."

Arthur can't believe Eames is being so closed off about this.

"Arthur there is a difference between sharing something personal because you desperately need to talk about it and being compelled to share something out of some bizarre sense of even-handedness."

"Yeah? Well what about sharing because someone else really needs to know that information, Eames? What about that?"

"I just don't understand, Arthur, why you need to know about what I got up to before I met you. That's not the kind of information I just hand out willy-nilly, you know. Are you trying to make me humiliate myself out of some inexplicable sense of fair play?"

Arthur feels lost and frustrated. Why can't Eames just do this for him? Arthur's anger is close to getting the better of him and turning this into a fight.

"Look, Eames, you know I've never done this before. I'm a fucking babe in the fucking woods. And I hate it. And I'm just trying to figure out, exactly, how much of a gulf exists between us. Why is that so fucking difficult for you to understand?"

Eames's face softens.

"That's what this is about Arthur?" He reaches hesitantly and runs his fingers very lightly along Arthur's upper arm. "Oh sweetheart, I tried to make it clear that we can take things as slowly as you need to. I really mean it."

Arthur's anger drains away at being called sweetheart. He feels silly and childish.

"Thank you. I appreciate that. I really, really do. But it's more than that. I just ... I never had anyone to talk to about this stuff before. So you're going to have to be my friend, too, not just my boyfriend. I need to work this through my mind, like with words. It's like, what if there was nothing between us, but I came to you with questions about what it means to have a boyfriend for the first time. It's like ... OK this is really fucked up sounding, but bear with me, what if I were a camper and I came to you with these kinds of questions, wouldn't you use your personal experience to help me out? I'm not trying to embarrass you. I just want some context, for myself, so I don't fuck up." 

Eames sighs and a sad look plays across his face. He scrubs his hands through his hair--such a contrast to the eager smoothing motions of just a few minutes ago--and Arthur worries that he pushed too hard. 

"I'm sorry," he says and touches his hand to Eames's calf. "If it's too much to ask, I understand. I ... I am really out of my depth here."

"No, Arthur. I overreacted. I'm the one who should be apologizing."

"You don't have to tell me anything."

"It's obviously important to you and you're right, I should be helping you out, not yelling at you. I'm just hesitant, because, well, the fact of the matter is that my own romantic history is a bit shameful, really, and I'm afraid you'll think less of me if you hear it."

Arthur knows it's important to say the right thing here. 

He leans lightly against Eames's leg, which is stretched out next to him, and softly squeezes the calf muscle where his hand is resting. "I think an awful lot of you, Eames. I'm pretty sure you're the best, kindest, most insightful person at this whole damn camp. I don't believe it could be as awful as you think it is. But you don't have to tell me anything. I was wrong to push." 

Eames sighs and leans his weight slightly against Arthur. It feels almost cozy.

"No, you we're right. You deserve to know what you're getting into. I just, well this is horribly embarrassing, but I want you to think that I'm, well, cool, and this story is decidedly not that."

Arthur tilts his head back so it pushes against Eames's midsection and rubs it around like a cat. Apparently honesty is a bit of a turn on for him. Who knew?

"My sister taught me this thing, for like when you want to talk to someone, but you don't want to see their face. You sit back to back, pressed up against each other. Then you're close enough to talk quietly, but you can sort of pretend no one is listening, if you need to."

Eames pauses, considering Arthur's idea, then says, "I will definitely file that one away for future use. It's quite brilliant. But I like how we are now." 

He kind of wiggles in his place a little, so that they're pressed more closely together, and places and arm around Arthur's shoulder. 

"Well first of all, it's important for you to know that there wasn't a big spotlight-on moment for me. I've fancied other boys for as long as I can remember--neighbor boys, primary school classmates, even our gardener's son."

"You have a gardener?"

"Is that really what you want to focus on right now, Arthur?"

"No sorry."

"Anyway, by the time I was 13 and shipped off to public school ..."

"Wait what?"

"Arthur, are you going to insist on questioning every element of my upbringing? It means something different. Trust me. My point is that by the time I was shipped off to live amongst roughly 800 other boys I was practically scratching my own skin off with a combination of lust and anxiety. It was awful. Truly."

Arthur thinks about it--young Eames checking out the other boys on the sly, all the time terrified of being caught and not even having a truly private place to hide.

"I can imagine," he says.

"Well the point is, that I was fucking starved for touch. You might think that being around other blokes all the time would have taken some of the pressure off, opened a door if you will. And maybe it did, for some people. There were rumors. But, well, truth be told, at that point I was much too scared to try to look for someone so eager to get off that they weren't going to be choosy about who was doing the offing, so to speak. I knew myself well enough realize that I'd get attached, emotionally invested, and I'd want to do things like kiss and cuddle, not just wank each other for the pleasure of feeling a different hand than usual on our bits."

Arthur is glad he's seated below Eames, so that he doesn't have to look at his face during this part of the story. He feels a very confusing duality of terror and arousal. He has never had this kind of frank conversation about sex with anyone in his life. His heart is beating hard and his face feels hot. 

"Well anyway, there was a boy, well two boys actually, and I fancied them both, in different ways. One, Sebastian, was a ridiculous crush of mine for pretty much my entire time at school. He never knew. He was on the rowing team and the debating society--eventually captain of both--simply gorgeous, able to be simultaneously properly behaved yet relaxed and easygoing. I idolized him for years. It's so embarrassing. I loathe telling you this."

Arthur could feel jealousy welling up from somewhere deep inside of him. No matter how much Eames claimed to "fancy" Arthur, he knew he couldn't compete with this Sebastian who had held Eames's affections for so long. Since Eames can't see his face, Arthur allows himself to pout a bit.

"So I had this undying crush on Sebastian, but I was friends with a bloke named Callum. And well after a couple of years I started getting these hints that he might have the tiniest bit of interest in me. I wasn't certain, but I just had this feeling, every once in a while that he'd stand too close or linger too long. But alcohol was nearly always a factor and I just wasn't sure enough. As time passed, I started looking forward to these little encounters--that's really putting too much weight on them--these little close calls. I begun to--oh this is humiliating--to have these fantasies about one day taking him up on what I'd come to think of as potential offers, tiny temptations."

Arthur squeezes Eames's calf. 

"Yeah, I wouldn't know anything about that feeling Eames. Jesus."

"Fair point. It's just that I've never told anyone this before at all, so I feel a bit exposed," he says and pulls Arthur in closer to his body.

"I'm flattered," Arthur replies and snuggles closer.

"Anyway, it's all going to get much worse. This is the sweet, innocent part. I'll cut to the end. He invited me home for Easter holiday one year. We got spectacularly pissed on the spoils of his parent's wine cellar and, well, things finally came to a head, so to speak. It was lovely for one night. Then it was horrid. He got very angry in the morning, said I seduced him, called me awful names, the whole lot. I went back to school early on my own, told everyone who stayed behind there that we'd had a row and holed up in my room to cry."

Arthur feels Eames's pain acutely. It doesn't take much imagination to put himself in Eames's place and Robert Fischer in Callum's. 

"Well that was the end of our friendship. Not only that, but his parents pulled some strings to have him moved at the last minute to another school for sixth form, like he couldn't even stand to be in the same regional vicinity as me."

"Asshole," Arthur interjects without really meaning to.

"It really was a wretched feeling. I'd finally let myself go, just for one night, and I'd forever lost one of my closest mates as a result. Not only that, but it made our classmates suspicious. I think I became a bit of an outcast, or maybe that's too strong a word. Maybe I exiled myself, not wanting to endure that kind of experience again. That's when I started really pursuing my interest in art, taking classes at a local place during the next holiday. That's how I first became interested in tattoos and got my first two before school started up again."

"It's awful Eames, but I do like who you are today, even if it's partially a result of that asshole, and you probably never would have come to camp here if you weren't going to art school in America. So there's a bright side, too, right?"

"Absolutely. But we're getting to the worst part. I, I really hate to tell you this. Are you sure you need to know?"

"No Eames. I told you I don't." Arthur feels slightly frightened. 

"It's OK. It's best you know everything about me. But I'll have to tell it quick. I can't linger over this story. It makes me sick."

"You don't have to," Arthur says and reaches his hand up to stroke the fingers on the arm wrapped around his shoulder.

"Suffice it to say, that at the start of sixth form this evil bastard Alton figured it out. Well he got most of the way there on his own, then managed to seduce the rest out of me with a well-timed flask of whiskey. I was much less social at that time, like I said, but this Alton bloke was mates with Sebastian and I still fancied him, in spite of everything. He was this great, untouchable bit of seeming perfection in our midst, golden and unfussed by the rest our petty problems. Anyway, Alton popped round my room and invited me to join them one night, then got me good and drunk and came on to me in a stairwell. I was bloody terrified, convinced it was all a trick and that everyone would jump out from behind the door the moment I relented. But he was persistent and really very handsome in his own right, and eventually it seemed like not a terrible idea. And that's pretty much the process that was repeated about once every week or two for the next year and a half. Not the drunkenness necessarily, although we did consume quite a lot in those days. But the illicit encounters. He was never nice. Sometimes he was even mean and mocked me for my obvious crush on Sebastian. But he was willing and I was so lonely and just starved for it, even if it was with a manipulative bastard who was only using me to get off on his own power--as well as in other ways, obviously."

"He didn't, like, force you though, right?" Arthur feels awful asking, but he has to know.

"No Arthur, he didn't even threaten to out me or anything. He was just a bastard and I was lonely and weak enough to put up with it in exchange for some level of human contact. I'm almost certain he isn't gay. Not much between us would lead me to think that--other than a little bit of snogging at the start he barely touched me in return. He just liked knowing that he could have that kind of power over me, where he knew I loathed him, but was willing to put out anyway. Also, he was my only connection to Seb and although he never threatened to cut me off, I knew it would happen if I stopped spending time with Alton. Seb and I had no friendship on our own. I wouldn't be able to spend time with him without Alton inviting me. And, this is the most humiliating aspect, some small part of me hoped that if one of Sebastian's closest mates was willing to experiment, albeit in a horribly manipulative and fucked up way, then maybe Seb would be too, given the right circumstances. I was such a spineless, pining git. I hate even thinking about it."

"Eames I'm so sorry. He sounds like the worst kind of person imaginable and like it's not your fault at all."

"I appreciate your giving me the benefit of the doubt, Arthur, but I promise you it was entirely my choice. I even looked forward to it, in a perverse way, because it was the only thing available to me. This is why I didn't want to tell you, because you're only so new to all of this, you couldn't possibly understand the motivation to shag someone you loathe, just for the chance to do it at all." 

"I guess not," Arthur replies and is quiet, because he once again feels like he's much more than two years younger than Eames. There seems to be a vast gulf dividing them, not just of experience, but of desire.

"Do you hate me?" Eames asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"God no, Eames," Arthur says turning to look up at him. "How could you think that?" 

Eames's eyes are wide and scared looking.

"I was just thinking about how different my experiences, my lack of experiences, are from yours. I ... I've been thinking about this a lot lately, especially after we kissed and it was so amazing," he watches a blush rise up Eames's neck, across his face. "Wondering why I couldn't have realized any of this stuff about myself before now. I feel so repressed and sort of childish."

"You shouldn't. Like I said the other day at the lake, you can't force things, and when you do you usually live to regret it. Anyway it's not like you've spent half your life living a lie, or something. You're only, what, 16?"

"Seventeen next month. The eighth."

"Even better. Figuring out your sexuality at 16 is hardly a case of massive repression. And it's not like you were forcing yourself to date girls, either. Maybe you were just, late to the game, yeah."

"God that makes me sound like a total loser, Eames."

"I don't think you're a loser. I think you're clever and funny and bloody gorgeous and sweet," Eames blushes again as he responds.

"It's because of my sister, really. She, uh, she was a kind of a bad girl in high school. She had a lot of boyfriends, well I'm not even sure I'd call some of them that even, and lot of drama over them, like way more than your typical teenage girl bullshit. She was like a one-woman soap opera. My parent's were constantly freaking out about her, and they all fought nonstop. They threatened not to pay for college if she didn't get her shit together. It was sort of an awful time. I was in middle school when all of this was going on. It was right about when all of my classmates were starting to have crushes on each other and 'going together,' whatever that means at that age. But I didn't really want anything to do with it. When she came back for Christmas vacation that first year in college, my sister asked me if I had a girlfriend and I told her that dating causes to much trouble. She keeps asking me and I keep saying the same thing. I just sort of pushed all of that to the back of my mind. I didn't want to cause any trouble. It wasn't until this last year that I even started feeling abnormal about it."

"Well that makes perfect sense to me, Arthur."

"I guess. I just feel like I'm way behind everyone else now," Arthur says, unable to look at Eames.

Eames puts his fingers under Arthur's chin and tilts his head up, so they're looking into each other's eyes.

"I could help you play catch up," he says. "A nice, slow, no-pressure game of catch up."

He's blushing, but also smiling seductively. Arthur's stomach swoops and somersaults. 

"OK," he responds and turns around to kneel on the stairs so that their heads are at the same height. He bites his lip, suddenly nervous--ridiculous considering everything they've shared and that they've already kissed before. Eames strokes his thumb below Arthur's lips. He looks nervous, too. The moment feels much bigger than the night at the art hut, like they're decisively moving toward something, instead of stumbling around in the dark.

Arthur leans the tiniest bit forward and Eames responds by pressing their lips together. Immediately, their shyness flies out the window and they're not at all hesitant about kissing. Everything is wet and delicious as they curl their tongues around each other, lips seeking ever new positions for contact. Arthur grabs Eames' shoulder for balance and places the other gently on his sternum. Eames feels strong and stable in a way that makes Arthur's stomach lurch. The touches must do something Eames, too, because he whimpers and runs his hands up and down Arthur's back, making Arthur shiver.

Arthur loses all sense of time as they kiss and run their hands along each other's upper bodies and through each other's hair. He can't get enough of touching Eames's broad shoulders. He feels an inexplicable urge to bite them, but doesn't let himself act on it--yet. Eames runs his hands through Arthur's hair over and over, trailing his fingertips down Arthur's neck so lightly that he shudders and an embarrassing noise escapes from his throat.

Eames pulls away at that. They're both flushed and breathing hard. Eames's eyes are shining with happiness when he looks at Arthur. 

"Maybe we should call it a night, yeah," he says.

Arthur checks his watch. It's well after Midnight. The counselors will be coming up to bed soon. Somehow between the talking and the kissing a lot of time has passed. He doesn't know where it went. 

"Yeah, OK," he responds. 

They don't make it far, however. 

Arthur climbs to the top of the steps and Eames offers him a goodnight kiss before leaving. Somehow, Arthur ends up leaning against one of the porch's thick columns, Eames's hands bracketing him on either side, keeping their bodies apart, but their heads close enough for Eames to do something obscenely delicious to Arthur's neck, right on the exact spot where his fingers had provoked such a surprising reaction before. Arthur thinks he's about 30 seconds from melting right into the wooden slats beneath his feet. He's also hyper aware of a keening noise that seems to be escaping from him, as well as the heaviness of his breath, which sounds like a steam engine in his own ears.

The still-functioning part of his brain is pretty seriously considering grabbing Eames by his hips and pulling him forward so their bodies are actually pressed together, like that accidental contact at the art hut, when he hears a voice calling out from down the hill.

It's Yusuf.

"Oi Eames, I'm right happy for you mate, but please pull your seductions somewhere other than my fucking verandah!"

Eames pulls away and gives Arthur a wary look. Arthur's heart is racing in a whole different way than it was just a few minutes ago. He's had a boyfriend for all of a few hours and they've already been caught out. 

Arthur realizes that Eames has shifted his weight so that he's still blocking Arthur from view, even as Yusuf is probably moving closer. Arthur looks up at him, grins and shrugs. If they're going to be seen, he doesn't want to act like a coward about it, hiding behind his boyfriend's shoulders and a well-placed porch column. Eames smiles back at him, eyes wide with surprise. It's probably not at all the appropriate reaction, but it makes Arthur laugh in his nervousness. By the time Yusuf has ascended to their level he and Eames are both doubled over and shaking. Apparently this is now a trend with them--making out followed by howling laughter. 

Yusuf's mouth drops open as he looks back and forth between them. 

"It's my porch too," Arthur says between giggles. 

"I must confess, I was not expecting that," Yusuf responds, looking dumbfounded.

But after their laughter dries up, he shrugs and smiles. 

"I was coming up to see if you wanted a beer before everyone goes to bed. I thought you were up here sulking. I guess I should have left well enough alone."

"Let's split it," Eames says and the three of them sit back down to share the two cans of beer that are bulging out of Yusuf's sweatshirt pockets.


	12. Second Session: All Apologies

Arthur opens his eyes the next morning and smiles at the cabin's ceiling, remembering the events of the night before.

"I have a boyfriend," he tells himself.

His grin spreads wide and a warm sensation fills his belly. Arthur almost can't believe that any of it actually happened. Part of him wants to stay in bed and just re-live everything over and over again in his mind. Another part can't wait to get up and start the day, to see Eames at breakfast and for once not feel confused or frustrated about their interactions. Most of all, Arthur can't wait for it to be nightime, so that he can kiss Eames again. God how he wants that. He can feel himself getting hard in his sleep pants and forces himself to take a series of deep, calming breaths.

The bell rings and he busies himself with urging the boys out of bed and up to breakfast. On their way out the door, Yusuf nudges Arthur's arm and hands him a couple of Band-Aids.

"For your ... ummm ... for your neck," he says.

Arthur brings his hand up to touch the spot Eames had been kissing the night before and feels a hot bruise under his fingers.

"Crap! Everyone will know."

"Who cares? Better they wonder who you've been snogging than pity you for having to watch Ari and Robert and their sick-inducing love affair."

Arthur grimaces and pops back to the cabin's bathroom to apply the bandages. He feels a mixture of shame at being so obviously marked and pride at knowing someone wanted him enough to stake their claim on him this way--not to mention a heat in his body at the memory of how good it had felt being applied.

He jogs up the hill, smiling to himself, but breaks into a full grin when he sees Eames and Patrick herding their campers into the mess hall. Eames smiles back, then bites his bottom lip as a blush rises across his face. Arthur's heart rate picks up from knowing that his smile, his proximity, can have that sort of effect on his boyfriend.

His boyfriend!

Another frisson of excitement runs through Arthur's body at the thought.

Arthur turns his head and sees Ari and Robert nuzzeling noses in the food line. He knows it's officially time to get on his knees and beg for her forgiveness, but her disgusting demonstrations of affection are going to make it tough. He smiles at Eames one more time and walks up to tap Ari on the shoulder.

"Sorry, excuse me," he says.

Robert smiles innocently at Arthur--who is pleased to note that his heart doesn't flutter, for even a second--but Ari scowls, which does make his stomach lurch.

"I really need ... Let me start again, I would really appreciate it if you would be willing to talk to me during quiet rest today. I have some things I'd like to say, if you're willing to listen ... Please."

Ari stands stiffly eyeing him with a look of distrust on her face. But Robert squeezes her arm, where his hand still, and says: "You should listen to him, Ari." She turns and gives her boyfriend a sharp look. He responds by looking at Arthur and adding: "She'll do it."

Arthur isn't quite sure how to react to this little exchange, but he nods and walks back where the rest of his cabin is waiting in the breakfast line.

That afternoon when DFC is safely, although not quietly, ensconsced in their bunks and supposedly resting (yeah right), Arthur walks over to Ari's cabin and waits just beyond the porch steps. When she emerges, she looks nervous, but less angry than she had this morning. He suspects, or at least hopes, that Robert, for whatever reason, has calmed her down.

"Hey," he says, trying to keep his face open and neutral.

"Look, I talked to Mal, OK, and you're right, she's all fucked up. She's mad at Dom for making her come back to be a counselor again this summer when she wanted to get internships and live together somewhere..."

"It's not about Mal," Arthur interrupts. Then he pauses. "Wait, she told you all that? I can hardly even get her to admit that she's unhappy at all." 

"Yeah, well, she probably thinks you're hitting on her. A girl that smokin' is used to boys talking to her for one reason and one reason only, you get my drift."

"Maybe I should make sure she knows I don't like girls."

"Anyway, what's it about, if not your pet, French project?"

"I, uh, I think I owe you an apology," Arthur spits out, unable to find a less-direct method for telling Ari, as much as he wants to.

She shifts awkwardly on her feet, clearly unsure about how to respond.

"I have not exactly been a good friend to you since you and Robert started dating and I'm really sorry," Arthur says, forcing himself to look at Ari's face. 

"Yeah well you really pissed me off Arthur. I don't know if I want to forgive you, just because you say you're sorry. I thought we were friends. I thought we'd agreed that it was cool if either one of us landed Robert. I feel like you lied to me." 

Arthur doesn't know quite how to respond. Saying sorry doesn't seem to be quite enough. He'd been afraid to try to explain himself to her, but it's looking like he might have to try.

"OK you're right. I was jealous, OK. I know it's stupid. I know I had no claim on Robert. But I just felt like ... like you could have anyone in the whole camp and I only had one option and you took it."

"Then why didn't you just tell me? I asked if you were mad and you said, 'no.' You lied over stupid jealousy. Bros before hoes, Arthur. What about the code?"

He can't help but snort with laughter at that. Ari, thank God, responds with a teensy smile.

"But it was more than just jealousy," he admits, stomach clenching with humiliation.

"I'm listening." 

"I, umm ... Look, this is really embarrassing so please take the fact that I'm telling you as a sign that I consider you a very good friend. I didn't really care when I found out that you'd kissed him, or whatever happened between you that weekend. But I guessed I'd always thought that if you won, if he wanted you and not me, then it would be a one-time thing like it was with the other guys from the first session and you'd tell me about it and then we'd just go back to normal. Once I realized that you actually wanted to, you know, date him, I felt like you were done with me, like we weren't going to spend time together anymore."

Arthur can't believe he's just admitted that out loud. He'd barely been able to admit it to himself.

"Well that's just stupid, Arthur. What would make you think I'm that kind of person? Look, I tried to tell you that first morning at breakfast, OK. And yeah, I could have probably tried a little harder. But I was kind of nervous that you'd be mad at me. And I was right, wasn't I?"

"Yeah well it felt like you were choosing him over me. Like you decided that having Robert as your boyfriend was more important than making sure I was cool with it."

Ari looks crestfallen. 

"I'm sorry," she says. "I guess I just thought ... you said one of us should kiss him. I didn't realize ... Do you hate me?"

"No. It doesn't matter anymore. I just want to be friends again."

Ari offers him a contrite, watery smile.

"But there's more," Arthur forces himself to add, heart racing in nervousness. "I have to know ... did you tell him? About our agreement? I was really afraid that once you became his girlfriend you'd tell Robert about us both liking him. And he'd think back on all of the conversations we'd had and realize that I'd been trying--embarrassingly--to hit on him and it was just too horrible to think about."

They stand in silence on the banks of the lake, away from the tiny beach. Arthur feels like he's going to throw up. Even now that he no longer wants Robert, even now that he has his own boyfriend who is so much better, Arthur is mortified at the though of Robert putting two-and-two together about his clumsy flirtations

"I didn't tell him," Ari says. "But I'll confess that I might have done so without even thinking about it. I wasn't really considering that that might embarrass you. I was so mad that I told him I didn't want to talk about you at all. But if he'd pressed the issue, I might have told him. I'm sorry. I'm so, so fucking sorry." 

She sounds kind of choked up.

"Don't be stupid. You didn't do anything."

"Yeah but I might have. You're right. I am a bad friend. I didn't think about your feelings at all. I took everything you said at face value. I didn't bother to delve any deeper."

"Yeah, well, I should have just been honest, too. And luckily you didn't say anything. I might have run away out of pure shame if you had."

"Seriously."

"No, not seriously. Well maybe I would have that first day. But not anymore. I've got other stuff to tell you, stuff that would keep me here no matter how much you theoretically embarrassed me, even if you'd shouted it from a bullhorn at the flag pole. ... But please don't do that, just in case."

"Arthur. What are you trying to tell me?" Ari asks, a sly grin spreading across her face. "This sounds juicy," she adds, nudging him in the ribs and winking exaggeratedly. "Do you have a secret? Do you have something to tell me?"

"Maybe," he responds. "What's it to ya?"

"Do not hold out on me son. You cannot disrupt the fragile balance of our newly repaired relationship."

"Well when you put it that way," he says. "First, I don't really know if it's a secret or not yet, so don't tell anyone OK?"

"My lips are sealed." She locks her mouth shut with an imaginary key and tosses it over her shoulder. "Are you going to spill, or what?"

"I'm dating Eames--like actually dating. We talked about it and set the terms, or whatever, and everything. I know it sounds crazy, but I was so wrong about him."

"I should have known," she shakes her head. "It's like something out of a classic rom-com. First you hate each other and then it turns out your antagonism was secretly flirting all along."

"I think that's how it was for him, but I was totally stupid. I didn't realize how cool he was, or how kind or how insightful. It's like he stepped right in the moment I was close to losing control and was ready to just help me. I can't believe I didn't see how fucking pretty he is either. Clearly, I'm an idiot."

"You said it, not me." She bumps her hip against his. "So you're like actually boyfriends, like for realsies? How did you even know he liked dudes? I never in a zillion years would have guessed." 

"I didn't guess either. But we were talking one night and he kissed me. It was totally out of the blue. I couldn't believe it."

"Oh my God! That's so amazing. OK now I'm kinda jealous. I always have to practically throw myself at a guy to get him to kiss me and apparently Eames was pining away for your bod the whole time."

"You're ridiculous," Arthur responds. "And I missed you." 

"I missed you so much, Arthur," she responds. "Let's never fight again, even if we live to be 100."

He snorts at her hyperbole, throws his arm over her shoulder and guides them back back toward the soccer field where most of the counseling staff are lounging around in the sun.


	13. Second Session: Leveling up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: We finally, finally get to that "mature" rating this time around, in case that is a problem for anyone, consider yourself warned.

Arthur is starring at the camp fire, zoning out during yet another installment of Dom's ongoing haunted train story when Ari nudges him sharply in the ribs.

"Stop daydreaming about your sexy British boy toy," she hisses.

Arthur scowls at her.

"He's not a toy," he says, and immediately regrets it when her face lights up with glee.

"Artie and Eamesie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First come looooooove. Then comes marriage. Then comes Nash in the baby carriage."

"Ugh. If I had a kid like Nash, I would drown him. Prison would be worth it."

"I bet Eames would bake you a cake with a file inside and you could go on the lam together like Bonnie and Clyde. ... Dreamy."

"Who is the Bonnie in this scenario? Can't we be Clyde and Clyde?"

"But who will wear the fashion-statement dresses and enormous false eyelashes if there's no Bonnie?"

"What about Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid then?"

"Ohhh yes. You can be Robert Redford and he can be Paul Newman, because he's older and has sort of blue-ish eyes. Incidentally, the first time I watched that movie was with my mom and about halfway through I realized, to my extreme horror, that we were both mooning over the same guys. I felt extremely uncomfortable."

"Are you saying you want to daydream about my boyfriend's gorgeous eyes? 'Cause I'm afraid I'm not cool with that."

"No. Gross. We have to at least be in our 20s before we start perving on each other's love interests again, Arthur. I was just noting how weird it was to be attracted to the same guys as my mom. It made me wonder if she secretly thinks some of my classmates are hot. Hey maybe you'll have a moment like that with your mom when you get home."

"Fun," he says in his least sincere tone. "I can't wait."

"Just don't watch any Bond films together," Ari responds bumping shoulders with Arthur.

Thank God Dom's story seems to be winding down for the night.

"How many chapters of this thing can he have stored away in his mind?" Arthur wonders. "What is is fucking obsession with ghost trains."

Most unfortunately, Arthur is on guard duty that night, which means no making out with Eames. It was one of the drawbacks of the other counselors knowing they were a couple. Dom absolutely wouldn't let Eames switch with anyone when Arthur was working after hours (just like he wouldn't put Ari and Robert on guard duty the same night, nor any of the other coupes).

But it was worth it to make sure Eames knew that Arthur didn't consider him a dirty secret. He had responded with a new level of warmth and happiness to Arthur's insistence on openness--on not being like the other guys in Eames's life, no matter how scared Arthur had been to let everyone know. He'd told Yusuf and Ari to spread the word and then kissed Eames right in front of everyone at the shack, heart hammering in his chest. But the smile Eames had given him afterward, the hard way he'd squeezed Arthur's hand, and the real, deep kiss Eames had returned once they left for the art hut, were worth every terrifying moment.

They had agreed, however, to keep it hush-hush from the campers. That just seemed like courting trouble that wasn't worth any kind of reward.

As he ushers the DFC boys toward their cabin, Arthur looks over and catches Eames's eye.

Eames makes an exaggerated frowny face. Arthur responds with a pouty fat bottom lip. Eames responds by pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. Arthur huffs a laugh and Eames responds with a grin and a wink.

They are so silly together sometimes. Arthur didn't know that this is what it would be like to date someone--just fun and relaxed and sometimes goofy. It's like having the sort of friendship he does with Ari, but mixing in a whole other array of sexiness and kissing ability. Well when he puts it that way, it sounds sort of creepy, like he'd rather be with Ari or wants both of them or something. But that's not how he means it at all. Arthur's just grateful that he feels like he and Eames are actually friends in addition to everything else.

Hell Eames and Ari are his two fucking best friends in the world right now, sad as that might be to admit, considering he's only known them for just over six weeks. Arthur has plenty of people whom he hangs out with at home, but it's not the same. He's always kept them at an arm's length, always been responsible and half-adult in every scenario. It's so great just to let go and have fun with people--not to mention feeling like he can honestly discover himself and grow with them.

Speaking of discovery and fresh experiences, Arthur needs to figure out a smooth way to advance his and Eames's nightly make-out sessions to the next level. The problem is, he doesn't really know what the next level exactly would entail. I mean he's not stupid, he knows it will involve finally, finally getting each other off in some way, shape or form. But he isn't sure how to get there without being totally clumsy and laughably inexperienced. He knows Eames probably wouldn't laugh at him, but he still feels a little scared at the idea.

They've never really even touched each other below the waist while making out--although Eames did squeeze his knee once while they were sitting next to each other on the porch and sharing a fairly chaste, closed-mouth kiss. Aside from that brief second of contact in the art hut that first time, their bodies never touch beyond their hands and arms. Eames always keeps them decisively apart.

Arthur would really like to amend this situation, but he's incredibly nervous about how to proceed. Every night, just when they're getting to that same point where Arthur's entire body feels warm all over and he's on the verge of losing all his cool and just pushing himself up against Eames and humping his leg like a dog, Eames pulls away and says they should go to bed.

He must rectify this situation.

While idly patrolling the cabin area, Arthur makes a mental list of what needs to happen. He's accepted that he just has to deal with his obsessive need to plan these things out, at least for now.  
A) he needs to figure out a way to get their lower bodies in on the fun, without being super clumsy and awkward about it;  
B) he needs to be sure that if that if he manages to somehow pull of A) that he won't go off within a matter of seconds, seeing as he's never done this before with anyone else and he almost always ends the night in the cabin's tiny bathroom coming in his hand embarrassingly quickly;  
C) to probably not execute A) in a way that results in them having to come in their ugly green shorts, because laundry days are far between and he'll definitely have to wear them again; and finally  
D) Figure out where this should all happen, because they've stuck to the great outdoors so far.

What Arthur had really wanted was for Eames to take the initiative in this matter, but he's pretty sure that the older boy is not going to make a move until Arthur let's him know what he wants. Arthur desperately hopes that once he manages to demonstrate his interest, Eames will take it from there and let Arthur know what to do.

By the time enough counselors have come up to bed that Arthur is close to considering himself off duty, he only has tidbits of a gameplan. It actually doesn't fully fall into place until he sees Patrick and Eames shuffling up the hill together, among the last group. Unfortunately, at that moment, Arthur is in the middle of walking a tiny kid with a stomachache off to the infirmary. Arthur looks over at Eames and grimaces, tilting his head toward the kid in question. Then he shrugs to communicate that he doesn't know how long it's going to take. Eames looks a bit forlorn, which makes Arthur's heart beat a little faster.

Honestly, Arthur would normally feel upset too. But just at that moment, all of his half-formed ideas clicks together into something workable.

He doesn't even mind sitting with the camper in the infirmary until his breathing drops off into an easy cadence, because it just means that it's more likely Eames and Patrick will have dozed off by the time Arthur leaves. When he finally does, it's just after 1 o'clock. Arthur briefly considers just heading off to bed. It's going already going to be a rough morning as it is. But he just can't turn down the chance to act on his plan.

Minutes later he's once again peeking through Eames's cabin window. He takes a moment to relish the innocent beauty of his boyfriend's face when it's relaxed in sleep, eyelashes already fluttering lightly against his high cheekbones.

Deep breath.

Arthur knocks and watches as Eames's head stirs on the pillow. He isn't embarrassed to be caught looking this time, so he's still standing there when Eames opens his eyes and offers a confused, sleepy smile.

"Arthur ... Couldn't stay away, I see," he says, but his tone is entirely fond.

"Can you blame me?" Arthur replies, allowing Eames to see his most unguarded smile in return for the sleep spying.

"Do you want to go for a walk? Let me grab my trainers," Eames says as he kneels on the far side of the bed, presumably groping for his shoes.

"Actually, I was wondering if you'd invite me in."

Eames looks up with his eyes wide and his lips parted in surprise. It's dark, but Arthur is pretty sure he can see a blush rising up Eames's neck.

"I'm actually a vampire. That's why I need to be asked, you see."

"I'm pretty sure I've seen you out in the sunlight, Arthur."

"Fine, you got me. I'm just trying to be nice, gentlemanly like."

Eames makes a nonsense humming noise in response and steps up to help move the screen aside.

"Welcome," he gestures, and Arthur attempts to tumble through the window while both looking cool and remaining quiet. He succeeds in the second part, at least.

They pause, still for a moment while they make sure no one heard Arthur's entry. Then Eames reaches down and offers Arthur a hand up.

"Hey," Eames says when they're standing face to face. He gently brushes a stray hair off Arthur's forehead.

"Hey," Arthur whispers, suddenly feeling much less brave.

"Tell me: To what do I owe this pleasure?" Eames whispers back.

Arthur doesn't know what to say without getting all flustered and incoherent, so he just kisses Eames instead.

Usually, they make out sitting down, either on porch steps, on the end of the dock or leaning against the giant, old oak tree behind the soccer field. Arthur suspects its easier for Eames to feel in control of the situation when their bodies are naturally kept apart, as long as they remain upright and side-by-side. Of course, they always share a goodnight kiss or two in front of one of their cabins, but those mostly devolve into silly contests over who can say "sleep well" last or betting each other over who will get to breakfast first the next morning (a contest Arthur has, unfortunately, never won).

But this is different.

The knowledge that they're only a few feet from Eames's bed adds an air of danger and excitement, even though nothing new has happened yet. Arthur lets himself get a bit lost in Eames's plump lips, wet mouth and velvety tongue. When he starts to feel short of breath and flushed all over, he slowly takes two steps backward so that his back is pressed against the wall.

Eames holds utterly still and gives Arthur a questioning look, apparently unsure whether he pulled away out of a need for space or a desire to be followed. Arthur wordlessly answers by grabbing the front of Eames's shirt and hauling him forward, so that their chests are pressed together with Arthur's hands held flat in between them. A breathy sigh escapes from Eames's mouth and he tilts his head to kiss Arthur again, this time slightly less gently. Arthur manages to free his hands and wraps his arms around Eames's waist, then scratches up under the back of his shirt. Eames whimpers and kisses Arthur deeper. After a response like that, Arthur can't help running his hands up and down Eames's bare spine again.

Eames pulls away and gives Arthur an absolutely smoldering look from beneath half-closed eyelids. Then he does possibly the sexiest thing Arthur has ever experienced: He lifts one of his hands from where it's braced on the wall and uses it to cover Arthur's mouth. He simultaneously rolls his hips forward gently, but with purpose, sending an unbelievable wave of pleasure rushing through Arthur's entire body--from his toes wiggling in his flip-flops, to the hairs standing up on his scalp. At the same time, Eames dips his head and scrapes his teeth across Arthur's neck.

Aside from how deliciously naughty it feels, Arthur's glad Eames's hand is preventing any of the of the noises he can't help making from escaping his mouth. This is especially true as Eames switches from biting to covering Arthur's now wounded neck with hot, wet kisses. All the while, Eames grinds his hips against Arthur's with a slow, easy rhythm.

Arthur keeps his eyes squeezed tight and tries to toe the line between giving himself over completely to this experience and holding himself back from ending it too soon. He's sort of writhing around against the wall when he accidentally pushes back against Eames's steady, methodical pressure and the sensation of their dicks pressing right up against each other sucks the breath right out of Arthur's lungs.

The reaction it gets from Eames is possibly even better than the sensation itself. _Maybe_. It's too close to call.

After making a very quiet, but very pornographic noise, Eames uncovers Arthur's mouth and goes back to kissing him--more hungrily than he ever has before this moment. Arthur can feel the situation escalating and he's just cognizant enough to be happy that he's not even the slightest bit scared anymore. He keeps one hand clutching at Eames's back, his soft, overly laundered tee-shirt ghosting over Arthur's knuckles. Arthur slowly lowers the other down to palm Eames's ass, which feels so round and firm that Arthur can't help giving it a squeeze, pushing Eames forward at the same time as he lifts his own hips off the wall, finding and joining the rhythm of Eames's movements.

It almost almost like they're dancing, although Arthur has certainly never danced with anyone quite like this before. He's getting pretty close to losing control. It's almost impossible to pull away, but Arthur knows that if he doesn't do it now, he probably won't do it at all.

"Wait," he says, tilting his head away from the kiss.

Face flushed and breathing like a marathoner, Eames steps back until there's at least a body length between them. He looks a little bit scared, in a way he hasn't since the night they officially started all of this, when Arthur pushed him about his past.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry. We can, you know, call it a night," he whispers. "Are you mad?"

Arthur closes most of the distance between them, places both hands gently on Eames's shoulders and says: "I don't want to call it a night just yet, if that's OK."

"Fucking hell Arthur, that's more than OK. Just tell me what you want."

They stand there eyeing each other, Eames obviously unsure about what his next move should be, and Arthur nervous to say anything more specific.

Deep breath.

"This is sort of embarrassing, but ... well I really have to wear these clothes again before I can get them washed, well the shorts and the shirt anyway. ... And so I don't want to get them, you know, messy? You get what I'm saying?" Arthur's voice is so quiet that he can barely hear himself.

There's no denying that Eames's already pink face deepens to a rosy shade of red, so Arthur knows he was audible.

Eames looks very solemn as he raises his hand to stroke his thumb behind Arthur's right ear.

"So you're saying we should take off our clothes?" he asks, sounding very uncertain.

Arthur bites his lip, "well at least the ones we have to wear again. Maybe not _all_ of them."

Eames sucks in an audible breath. He looks almost bewildered--eyes wide, lips parted.

Eames gently lifts Arthur's hands off his shoulders and steps back to take off his shirt. Arthur has seen Eames shirtless many times over the course of the summer, but only once since this thing began with them--during that awkward, but sweet, encounter in the showers the morning after their first kiss. Everything seems so much different in the context of what they've just been doing though. Without thinking, Arthur traces his fingers over one of the tattoos on Eames's chest, eliciting a shiver in response. Eames reaches out and grabs the hem of Arthur's shirt and together they pull it up over his head.

Eames brushes his lips over Arthur's. Arthur is about to grab the back of Eames's head and pull him closer, make the kiss deeper. But his hands have barely touched Eames's hair when the other boy pulls back.

"Wait, what, what do you want to have happen once we're well on our way to being completely starkers then? I don't want to go too fast or do anything you don't want, yeah. ... Please tell me what to do." Eames's voice is shaky as he asks.

Eames looks agitated, clearly unsure about what's expected of him and afraid of taking a wrong step. Arthur fears that his incessant need to plan and control every possible element of his life has ruined the perfect momentum that had been building between them until he stopped it due to silly fears about laundry.

"This was pretty much as far as I got: Get into a private place, intensify kissing, remove as much clothing as necessary to avoid ... _you know_ , making them unwearable. I'm sorry. I don't know. I kind of hoped you'd just take over ... ."

"OK well why don't we strip off to our skivvies and just get back to it then? Does that work?"

Arthur gives a shy nod and leans in to kiss Eames again. It feels too clinical to just stand there and take more clothes off without touching. Also, he really wants to know what it will feel like when their bare chests rub against each other.

It turns out that the answer is tingly; it feels deliciously tingly.

Eames walks them backward. But when Arthur hits the wall, Eames flips them, so that his own back is pressed up against the wooden surface. Arthur can't stop himself from running his hands all over Eames. Yes, these are all parts he's touched before when they were kissing, but not skin-on-skin like this. It feels _incredible_.

Arthur leans in and bites Eames at the joint of his neck and shoulder, just like he'd desperately wanted to do the week before. Eames's head falls back against the wall with a clunk and Arthur takes this as a sign of encouragement to nip little bites along the line Eames's collarbone, which he then follows with tiny kisses and then a long swipe of his tongue. His boldness is rewarded with a genuine, hip-wiggling squirm of delight from Eames.

Unfortunately it's then followed with a barely whispered curse.

"Bugger! I think the wall just bit me!"

"Oh shit. Are you OK?"

"Yeah. I think so. Fuck. I'm sorry Arthur. I'm not as good at planning as you are, obviously. I should have foreseen that one of us would end up full of splinters," Eames pouts.

"Well we can't all be as obsessive as me, I'm afraid," Arthur says, trying to elicit a smile.

It succeeds.

"You're not, Arthur, you just like specificity. And it's cute."

"You know how I feel about being called cute, Eames." Arthur tries his best to sound threatening.

"I'm sorry, but I think you're adorable and I won't be talked out of it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then you'll have to be punished."

Arthur reaches out and tickles Eames's side, prompting him to let out a completely undignified squeak.

"Jesus Eames, be quiet!"

"I am going to kick your deliciously cute arse for that offense."

"Come and get me, you bastard," Arthur says as he darts as quietly as possible across the room to the far side of the bed.

Eames tip-toes exaggeratedly, like a cartoon villain, until he's standing across from Arthur with the bed between them. The he lifts his finger to his lips and says: "Shhhhhhhh!"

Arthur responds with a confused face and shrugs his shoulders.

"What? I didn't make a sound?"

"No. But you're about to."

Eames reaches out and tweaks Arthur's nipple. Hard. Arthur just barely stops himself from crying out loud.

"You're a fucking dead man, Shushy." he whispers as soon as Eames lets go.

"Oh yeah?" Eames asks, bringing one knee up to rest on the bed and leaning forward across the expanse that separates them.

"Yeah," Arthur replies, mirroring his movements, heart racing at where he thinks this is headed.

The stare at each other for a second, still pretending to be fighting, before simultaneously collapsing on the cot, kissing and tangling their limbs together, all faux animosity gone in an instant.

Everything is messy and eager as Arthur and Eames do their best to press every part of their bodies together--rocking back and forth on the cot, because there no room to actually roll around. Eames gets his hands on the waistband of Arthur's shorts and tugs them off.

He pauses briefly to ask, "OK?" But Arthur responds by pulling him right back into the kiss and wiggling his hips to help slide the shorts down his legs. Then he does his best to shift toward the middle of the rickety bed and pull Eames on top of him. The added pressure of gravity is delicious. Arthur tilts his hips up to meet Eames and is ground right back down into the mattress. He slips his hands between Eames's track pants and his underwear, groping and moving their bodies into a steady rhythm for a few minutes before pushing the pants down over the luscious curve of Eames's ass. Arthur manages to slide one of his legs over the side of the bed and wrap it behind Eames's knee in order to push the waistband down further. Eames groans into Arthur's mouth in response.

"Fucking hell, you are a right sexy bastard, Arthur," he says and pushes up on to one knee, giving himself the leverage to run his run a hand across Arthur's chest and then rest it on hipbone.

Arthur sees his moment and swallows deep gulp of air. Before he can lose his nerve, he reaches his hand up and presses his hand against the bulge in Eames's very short, very tight boxer briefs (which Arthur should really ask him where he bought at a more opportune moment, because they are so much nicer than Arthur's tighty whities).

Their bodies are close enough that Arthur can feel Eames suck in a sharp breath in response to the touch. He very, very gently squeezes and then shifts his hand slowly up and down, rubbing the fabric against Eames's skin underneath. Honestly, it feels both much stranger than he expected to be touching a dick that isn't his own and also not really that odd at all, because he feels so surprisingly relaxed with Eames now that this is actually happening.

Eames's eyelashes are closed and fluttering against his cheeks as his breath hitches unevenly. Arthur leans up on one elbow so that he can reach Eames's mouth and kisses him slowly, while simultaneously reaching inside Eames's underpants and running his palm very gently along the shaft of his dick.

Eames groans, perhaps a bit too audibly, into Arthur's mouth.

"Shhhhhh," Arthur whispers.

"Can I?" Eames asks, hovering his hand on the waistband of Arthur's own plain white briefs. (He hates them, but couldn't find anything that would fit properly under the hideous green shorts.) Arthur nods silently. They start kissing again as they wiggle out of their last remaining clothing. Eventually Arthur breaks away and looks down at Eames's dick.

"I've never ... how do I..." he trails off, running one finger over the foreskin and hoping Eames understands what he's asking.

Eames huffs a laugh into Arthur's forehead and shows him how to push back the layer of skin. Arthur immediately reaches out his hand as soon as Eames is done. He doesn't really move, not wanting to hurt Eames with his dry palm, but is unable to prevent himself from touching.

"Give me your hand," Eames says, hushed.

Arthur does as he's asked and Eames licks his palm sloppily, then repeats the action for good measure. Arthur smiles in response and immediately begins a slow, gentle stroking, not wanting to waste any moisture. Seconds later he feels Eames' spit-slick palm start working on his own body. He has to suck both lips into his mouth and bite down hard to keep from making a noise.

"Kiss me darling, please," Eames begs in response, sounding so desperate that Arthur replies without hesitation.

Kissing messily, barely in control they manage to work themselves into a position where they're squeezed side-by-side on the cot, legs tangled, facing each other and working their hands furiously on each other's dicks.

It doesn't take long before Arthur is whining and breaking the kiss to press his face into Eames's neck as he comes all over Eames's hand. Panting, he forces himself to stay at least a little bit focused and keeps working on Eames for another minute, kissing and sucking on the skin where his lips are pressed. Then, miraculously, Eames writhes against Arthur's body and spurts hot come all over both of them. Arthur tilts his head back against the pillow and lets out a long sigh while Eames nuzzles against him.

"I think we really messed up your bed," Arthur says after a few minutes have passed.

"No worries. Totally worth it."

"Thank you ... for being so patient with me."

"Don't be silly."

"You're the one who's always silly. I'm the one who's practical."

"To a fault darling," Eames sounds sleepy and pliant. Arthur can't help snuggling against him a bit, even if he knows he has to get up and go to his own cabin.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Eames. Anything." Even in his current state, Arthur is a bit shocked at how sincerely he means it.

"If you didn't know you were gay until, well, let's just say recently, then what on earth did you think about when you had a wank? At first I thought maybe you didn't. But I'm pretty sure now that that's not the case. You definitely had technique."

Arthur laughs quietly.

"Thanks," he says. "How much time have you spent wondering about this."

"Probably more than you want to know, honestly. Now answer. You promised."

"Actually I just said you could ask anything, not that I would answer."

"Ahem."

"Movies."

"But ... ?"

"Not what you're thinking. Just regular movies. Mostly really embarrassing romantic comedies that being a high school guy I'm supposed to scoff at and make fun of. They're my guiltiest pleasure. Like whenever I saw two characters who had really great chemistry, or looked really nice together, even if they didn't have a love scene, I would sometimes imagine them in different types of scenarios together, but not like I was inside it, more like I was watching it from the outside, watching the ways they reacted to each other. OK now that I look back on it, I realize that I probably thought more about the guy's reactions than the girl's. But I didn't really approach it from that way at the time. It was like this fantasy that one day I would finally meet someone that I liked and they would know how to make me feel that way and make those faces and have those reactions. ... I know it's kind of weird. I didn't even think about them in an especially porny way, mostly just their faces."

"What about after you embarked on this grand experiment that has brought you here to my cot in such a lovely way?"

"At first, those two guys from the concert that I told you about, which is maybe kind of weird if I'm being honest. Later, real people." Arthur is embarrassed to say that he'd thought about Robert at least a few times. Even though Eames must know it, Arthur thinks it might be rude or hurtful to acknowledge it, given their current situation.

"Anyone I know?"

"Yeah, I think you might."

"Mmmmmm ... Rest assured, Arthur, the experience is very much mutual."

Arthur laughs and wraps his arm around Eames's waist.

"Five minutes and then I have to go back to my cabin. Tomorrow is going to hurt."

"Uggh don't talk to me about tomorrow."

It actually takes 15 minutes--an extra three of snuggling and then seven to tidy up and get dressed.

As he curls up under the covers of his own cot, Arthur thinks that no matter how much he suffers when the bell rings the next day, he's absolutely certain that every moment of this night will have been worth it.


	14. Second Session: Afternoon on the Swim Platform

Arthur and Eames are lying out on the swimming platform in the middle of the lake, suits already almost dry after their swim out from the shore. They're talking about Mal's recent about-face regarding having a friendship with Arthur.

She had pulled him aside as he was leading the campers out of the drama centre a few days earlier, sending Taryn ahead with both sets of campers.

"Arthur, I have a favor to ask of you. But first I believe that I owe you an apology for being so rude when you were only trying to be my friend."

"It's OK, Mal. Don't worry about it."

"I only thought that you were trying to set up a romantic situation with me, go on a walk in the woods and then find a way to kiss me in the moonlight. I hope you understand that I would not have been so standoffish if I'd understood that you actually did want to be my friend."

"Yeah well, now you know," Arthur replied, trying, but probably failing to completely mask his irritation, since in spite of her poor social skills, he was still committed to helping Mal if she wanted it. "Anyway, the offer still stands."

"Very good, Arthur. I want us to be friends. Perhaps we can go shopping together on our next day in town, yes." 

"Shopping?"

"I know you have excellent taste, Arthur. I've seen how you were dressed on the first day--very stylish. Maybe you can advise me on some things to buy."

"Uh, we're in rural Maine, Mal. Are there really that many shopping opportunities? Anyway, I'm not much into that. I prefer to buy stuff online, where it's easy and over quickly. I mean we can still talk, if you want to, but do we have to walk around a look at clothes while we're doing it?"

Arthur had been dragged along on enough trips to the local mall when his sister was growing up that he knew he'd be bored stiff waiting around for Mal to try on whatever the hell one shopped for up here--duck boots? flannel shirts? hunting caps? 

She frowned at his lack of response and then said: "Well regardless, my reason for pulling you aside was to ask if I may borrow your beautiful boyfriend for a few days to help me with some painting for the play."

"Borrow my boyfriend?"

"I need someone to paint the backdrop for the play the children are putting on when their parents visit. Last time I tried to do it myself, but it looked simply awful. I want to ask Eames to help me to make them look nice so that the parents will not be distracted."

"Yeah OK. He doesn't need my permission."

"But I did not want you to be upset with me for taking your time with him away from you and causing him to spend it on making the paintings with me instead."

"She's crazy," Arthur thought to himself. "Does she expect us all to clear our requests for Dom's authority with her first? Those two fucking deserve each other."

"That's really Eames' decision, Mal. You'll have to ask him. Is there anything else you want to talk about? How are you feeling?"

"Oh you know, I'm enduring this summer each day by each day. I will be fine. I will ask your Eames to come and help me and tell him that you said it was acceptable."

Arthur raises up on his elbows, and turns to look over at Eames, who has his eyes closed against the glare. 

"I still want to help her, if she'll let me, but God, Mal is so annoying. What kind of an ego must she have to assume that every single person who speaks to her is just trying to get in her pants? I mean does she act like that when a classmate asks to borrow her notes or be lab partners or something?"

"Look she's obviously been treated like a pretty, pretty princess her whole life. Lord knows, she's the queen of this place. She likely has those pimply scholars at MIT falling all over her day in and day out."

"She probably makes them all line up to bask in her presence and then reveals at the last second that she has a boyfriend at Caltech, just to watch their hearts break right in front of her face."

Eames chuckles. 

"It's the shopping bit that really makes me laugh. She brought it up to me as well, while I was outlining the scenery last night. She seems to think that we're going to be her fabulous gay boyfriends who faun over her pretty clothes and drink Cosmos with her in the counselors shack."

"Gross."

"She said something about how we were going to 'be such great friends,' and 'salvage the remains of her summer with the mosquitos.' Apparently she wanted Dom to come out and spend the summer in Boston sharing her perfect new apartment. Or else to go out to Pasadena and spend the summer with him there. But he convinced her to do one last year at camp and she's been wanting to go home pretty much since the day they arrived and is furious with Dom for talking her into it. I can sympathize, I guess. I mean I'm having a delightful summer," at this he turns and grins at Arthur, without even opening his eyes. "But I can see how it would lose its appeal after a few years, especially when compared to the possibility of actually, you know, living with your long-distance boyfriend and not just sneaking moments here and there away from the campers."

Suddenly Arthur feels nervous at where this conversation is headed, with talk of long-distance relationships and seriousness and living together. He's in high school for God's sake. 

He changes the subject.

"Well she's fucking crazy if she thinks she should ask you for shopping advice--the guy who wears those hideous green shorts even when it isn't required, not to mention those bizarre galoshes."

Eames opens his eyes again and somehow manages to smirk even while he's squinting in the sunlight. 

"I'll have you know that I can clean up quite nicely when I feel inclined, Arthur. Look at my stylish new swimming costume."

Arthur can't stop himself from fingering the waistband of Eames' James Bond-esque, tight and short trunks, which he'd never worn on previous swims. He usually favored these utterly garish, rainbow plaid, surfer-style board shorts.

"How come you've never worn this one before?" Arthur asks, rolling on his side. "You look hot."

"Well maybe I was waiting until I had someone to show off for," Eames replies. "No use walking around like I'm more than three-quarters of the way to starkers without making sure the right person is going to appreciate the view."

"Is there a wrong person to appreciate the view?"

Eames blushes. 

Arthur's mouth drops open against his will. 

"Wait seriously? Did you have a thing with someone else before we got together? Eames! You're such an information withholder!"

"Not really, no."

Arthur suddenly pictures Eames pining away for another of the counselors, as he himself had over Robert at the beginning of the summer. His stomach tightens and his heart beats faster. When Eames had kissed him that first time, he'd made it sound like he'd liked Arthur practically from the beginning. Even though he knows it's totally unfair to feel slighted by this new information, Arthur can't help wishing that he'd been Eames' only love interest this summer.

"Stop frowning darling. It's not what you're thinking at all."

Arthur allows himself to pout a tiny bit.

"Then what is it?"

"On the first evening, when it was just the senior staff here, we all got spectacularly pissed, sitting around the flag pole. I wasn't even being flirty or anything, or at least not any more than my usual self ... "

"So completely flirty then," Arthur interrupts, but his tone is fond and teasing. "Or whatever it is that you think of as flirting, which it turns out is mostly just insulting people." 

"I'm only a beginner! Don't mock my horrid technique," Eames exclaims, faux offended. "Anyway, toward the end of the evening Doug cornered me outside the loo and tried to kiss me. Well he did kiss me, more or less, but it was very sloppy. He hardly even managed to reach my mouth." 

"Doug? Doug the cook likes boys and he kissed you on the first night of camp? But he never even hangs out with the rest of us. He just goes home to his townie friends at night."

"Correction: He goes home to his townie boyfriend at night."

Arthur can't help the relieved smile that spreads across his face. Eames, of course, has his eyes open against the sun now, and grins back.

"That make you feel better? I can't help but be flattered by your jealousy, but I promise that there is honestly nothing to be concerned about. He was blind drunk and I doubt he really knew what he was doing at the moment it happened. Also, as much as I wanted to have a proper boyfriend this summer, I wasn't just going to throw my lot in with the first person who expressed interest--been down that road before, thank you very much. Anyway, he's not really my type and he seemed like a terrible kisser, from the little I could gather, and this is from someone who's spent most of my time kissing someone who more-or-less hated me. Well until this summer, that is." 

Arthur doesn't care if Eames is exaggerating the truth to make him feel better, he feels like something inside his chest is melting, slowly releasing a tension he didn't realize had even built up there.

"So what happened?'

"He slept it off somewhere or other and apologized the in the morning. He was pretty much distraught over the idea that he'd kissed someone else. He cried."

"He cried!?"

"I think that, more than the kiss itself, is why he's been fairly well avoiding the rest of us all summer. I try to be friendly and let him know that it doesn't matter, we all do stupid things when we're pissed, but I think he's frightened. Also, I know he told his boyfriend and I'd imagine that probably put a strain on things and makes him less inclined to want to spend extra hours hanging round after the meals are finished."

Arthur feels a smirk building on his face and behind his eyes.

"So what, you avoided wearing this suit, because you didn't want to tempt him into cheating again by looking like a Tattooed James Bond, is that it? You took pity on him and shielded him from your sexiness? Is that what was happening?" 

"No you cheeky bastard. I just learned my lesson about not misleading anyone who I might not actually want to get involved with."

"You weren't tempted to attract my attention by flaunting yourself in these little numbers?" Arthur rolls on his side and rests his hand on Eames' protruding hipbone.

"If I thought it stood a chance in Hell of working I absolutely would have done." 

Eames also rolls on his side and shifts closer to Arthur, so their knees are touching. 

"Well you've certainly got my attention now," Arthur replies and leans forward to kiss Eames, boldly throwing his leg over the other boy's and using the leverage to pull them flush against each other. 

They kiss for less than a minute before Arthur hears Ariadne shrieking from the shore. 

"Get a fucking room you two!"

"She has absolutely no ground to stand on," Arthur seethes, prepared to sit up and start hurling accusations of hypocrisy landward.

But Eames deftly rolls away and over the edge of the platform, splashing Arthur as he enters the water. 

"Come on then," he calls, not bothering to explain himself. 

Arthur tilts his head questioningly, but can't help jumping in after. Whatever Eames has planned, it has to be preferable to restraining themselves while lying on what now feels like a giant, aquatic pedestal in front of the entire counseling staff.

As soon as he rounds far side of the platform, the Eames pushes Arthur up against the ladder and wraps his legs around Arthur's waist. There is something so utterly appealing about that sensation, that new variant on physical closeness that Arthur suddenly feels kind of dizzy. He surges forward to kiss Eames, brain having shifted from casual making out to needing to get off right fucking now.

"You make me feel so crazy sometimes, like I'm totally losing all control," he gasps against Eames' mouth. This earns him a growl and a bite to the earlobe. Everything starts to feel hazy and unreal, like he's had too much to drink, except he's perfectly sober and it's only late afternoon.

Eames moves Arthur's hands to grasp his waist.

"Hold me in place, yeah," he instructs and promptly reaches out to tug Arthur's swim trunks partway down. 

Arthur gasps with semi-surprise as Eames presses him back up and higher against the ladder, so that his dick is peaking out from under the water. Then Eames opens the fly of his suit and moves close enough to take both of them in hand. Arthur grips Eames' waist hard enough that he's worried it will bruise. At the same time, he feels Eames' legs wrap more tightly around his own midsection, gripping the ladder with his ankles. Arthur knows he can't let go. It's pretty much the only logical thought occupying his brain as Eames starts to stroke their dicks in unison.

It doesn't feel quite as overwhelming as it does on dry land when it's lubricated by spit instead of lake water. But something about Eames having his limbs wrapped around Arthur, gripping him for dear life, is so erotic that it makes up for any diminished sensation. 

More quickly than he would have though possible under the circumstances, Arthur feels an orgasm building behind his balls, drawing everything close to his body and making it feel warm, despite the surroundings. With a nearly surprised cry directly into Eames' mouth, Arthur comes, pressing as much of their bodies together as possible.

"Arthur, you are without a doubt the most gorgeous thing I've ever fucking seen," Eames gasps into Arthur's mouth as he comes in return, jizz drifting off into the water. 

Arthur follows it guiltily with his eyes.

The campers won't be swimming again until tomorrow," he frets. "This doesn't mean we've made the lake unclean. I mean fish must get off in this water all the time, right?"


	15. Second Session: Something New

A week later, Arthur and Eames are sprawled out naked on an unzipped rectangular sleeping bag in the art hut, feet and hands entangled despite the oppressive July heat. 

Arthur knows that even though the door it latched, they should get cleaned up dressed again as soon as possible, because it's almost time to meet at the flagpole for the end of quiet rest. But he can't quite bring himself to leave the closeness of their post-orgasm, semi-cuddling state. 

Also they're in the middle of a faux-heated discussion about British versus American pronunciations and Arthur wants to win, Goddamnit.

"I will consider giving you Adidas, but under no circumstances am I going to budge on David Bowie," he says adamantly.

"That is patently ridiculous, Arthur. Bowie is British. How can you claim the authority over the pronunciation of a British bloke's name? You simply can't. No arguments."

"Yes, but it's not his birth name, so his country of origin doesn't really matter. Also, I'm pretty sure he named himself after either Jim Bowie of the Alamo--an American--or else after the original Bowie's namesake knife. Therefore, the American pronunciation supersedes his own nationality."

"Are you on your school's debating society, Arthur?"

"No," Arthur grins at his boyfriend. "But I know I'm right, so I'm using the full force of my impressive-to-grownups-everywhere authoritative voice on you."

"Even though I'm not a grownup, I am powerless in the face of your argument," Eames says and leans forward to kiss Arthur's nose affectionately. "However, not quite so much that I'm not going to propose a trade. You can have your Bowie pronunciation on behalf of Americans everywhere, if you're willing to give us Kim Basinger."

"Who the fuck cares about Kim Basinger anymore? Take her. What a stupid deal."

"Come on now, 'L.A. Confidential' is an excellent film. We used to watch it on laptop fairly frequently back at school and a lot of my classmates thought she was quite fit." 

Arthur bites his lip and smiles mischeviously.

"I bet you didn't mind looking at Russell Crowe, with his boxer's muscles and big, soulful eyes, either" he says and squeezes Eames' hand.

"Hardly," Eames scoffs. "I was much more interested in Guy Pearce. His character may have been a bit of a twat, but he looked mouthwatering with his slicked back hair and glasses and tight-fitting waistcoats and intense frown." 

Eames returns the hand squeeze and his cheeks turn slightly pink. Arthur can't stop himself from rolling over for a kiss with his body pressed along Eames' side, even though they definitely have to get back to the group in 15 minutes.

"Fuck, Arthur..." Eames growls in response. "You're killing me."

Arthur lets his leg fall over Eames' and runs his hand over the other boy's stomach. 

"I so don't want to leave," he responds.

Eames rolls on his side, so that they're face to face. 

"Let's be late then, I bet no one will even notice if we're absent for the first few minutes."

"They might not notice if you're absent, Mr. Senior Counselor, because Patrick will be there to do all the herding and yelling. Yusuf will definitely notice if I'm not there."

"But he'll cover for you, yeah?"

"He's already helping me out by letting me go running in the mornings and shower before breakfast. I really don't want to ask him for anything more, especially since he can't seem to hook up with a girl to save his life and this would just seem like I was rubbing it in."

"Poor bastard. All right, if you think we should go, then let's get tidied up."

They don't move.

"Go on then," Eames gestures his head toward the door.

Arthur hesitates. Now that the idea is planted, he really, really wants Eames to find them an excuse to be late.

"If we stay, we might get in trouble and banned from Saito's house for the night off next weekend. It would be so sad if that happened twice."

"I don't give a toss if we're at Saito's house or in my cabin or in your cabin or wherever the bloody fuck. Having a whole day and night with no campers is the only thing I care about."

"Yeah, but at Saito's we can sleep in a real fucking bed on a real fucking mattress. I can't even remember what a mattress feels like."

Suddenly Eames is blushing again. 

"So you want to sleep together--to share a bed I mean?" 

"Well, yeah. Don't you?" 

Eames strokes Arthur's cheek with his thumb.

"More than anything, sweetheart."

"Just to, uh, be clear, I'm just talking about sleeping. Well. Not just sleeping. I just mean ... you know ... more than sleeping, but not ... you know ... like _sleeping together_ sleeping together."

Eames chuckles a short laugh and when Arthur manages to raise his eyes in spite of his embarrassment, he sees that his boyfriend is bright red.

"I figured as much," Eames says.

Then he adds, whispering: "Just so you know, that's not something I've ever done before either. Proper sex, I mean. But I'm not in any rush to get there, either. I've never really done any of this with someone else who actually liked me, or who would at the least admit it to himself the next morning. Anyway, I find the idea a little bit terrifying, if I'm being completely honest."

Arthur feels like the room is spinning. Since that first night when he listened to Eames' whole backstory, he and Eames haven't really talked about what all of this between them means or where it's going . Arthur hasn't exactly been worrying much these days about Eames wanting more than he's ready for himself, but it's nice to hear it anyway. Not that Arthur doesn't want to try anything new with Eames. There is definitely at least _one_ thing that he's curious about--really, really curious about, if he's honest. But knowing that broadening their horizons wouldn't lead to an uncontrollable freefall is fairly comforting.

"Fuck it," he says, and leans over for another kiss.

Eames groans into his mouth and rolls forward so they're pressed together. Arthur can feel Eames' dick hardening against him. It is such a turn on to know that he can have this kind of effect on someone like Eames--older and muscled and tattooed and just oozing sexuality.

Since they're already naked, it doesn't take long before Arthur is running his hand up Eames' chest and then bringing it up to lick his palm as usual. But Eames rolls them so that Arthur's looking up at his mischevious grin and feeling the weight of his body pressing down on him. 

They kiss for a minute or two, grinding together with the help of gravity, and then Eames pulls away and bites his own lower lip. 

"Darling do you think I could try something new?"

Arthur holds his breath. He hopes he knows what this means, especially given what Eames had just told him about not wanting to have _sex_ , sex together. 

"You can stop me if you want at any time, yeah."

Arthur's heart is pounding in his chest. He is almost certain that Eames is going to give him a blowjob. God he hopes so. Arthur can't really conceive of what on earth it would feel like to have someone's mouth on his dick, but given the way that Eames kisses and the delicious things he does to Arthur's neck, Arthur knows it will feel good.

"Yeah, OK," he breathes out.

Eames grins at him, then leans down and nips Arthur's ear, quickly kisses his neck and slowly slides down Arthur's body, running one hand along Arthur's side, until it comes to rest on Arthur's hipbone. Then he leans down and bites the protruding bone on the other side, following it up with a swipe of his tongue. 

Arthur arches his back off the ground and let's out an embarrassingly loud moan. 

"Oh God, I'm really going to lose it. I hope I don't sound like a total freakshow ... "

But Arthur's thoughts are interrupted when Eames repeats the action at the same time as he rubs his palm in a circle on the head of Arthur's dick. He kisses his way across Arthur's stomach and Arthur feels his breath quicken. He's so on edge, wondering if Eames is actually going to do this, and what it will feel like. 

Finally, finally Eames leans down and licks a long, wet stripe up the shaft of Arthur's dick. It is, without question, the best sensation Arthur has ever felt in his entire life. Eames' tongue is always so soft and slippery and somehow simultaneously smooth and bumpy with tastebuds in a way that doesn't logically seem like it should feel as amazing as it does. But nothing compares to how it feels swirling around the head of Arthur's dick. 

He knows he's making embarrassing noises, completely losing any semblance of cool he might have had. But Eames seems to like it, because he makes a sound that's halfway between a growl and a grunt and then opens his mouth and sucks Arthur's dick right inside. And oh, oh, oh it's so hot and wet and unlike anything else in the world. 

Arthur tries to concentrate on what's happening, to figure out exactly what Eames is doing, so that he can try, and probably fail, to return the favor. But it's really, really hard to pay attention when he's panting and wriggling around on the sleeping bag, feeling like a stranger in his own skin. He's also trying really, really hard not to come too fast--even though doing so would make them less late to meet the campers--because he doesn't want Eames to be less than impressed with him and he knows that kind of thing is supposed to be important. 

Arthur's brain kind of shuts down at that point and he just loses himself in the beauty of having his dick totally surrounded and encased inside a place so warm and moist, somewhere that it feels like it was made to be kept, crazy as that sounds even in the context his own mind. And then, suddenly, he realizes that he can't hold out any longer. Fuck! He's got to keep it together until he can warn Eames. It seems like the right thing to do.

"Eames, Eames wait, I'm gonna, I'm ... "

Eames pulls off and quickly says, "it's OK," before sucking Arthur right back into his mouth, seconds before Arthur comes so hard that he's pretty sure he stops breathing for a few seconds. 

Arthur stares at the ceiling, still panting, for at least a minute, before rising up on his elbows and looking down at Eames.

"Oh my God, Eames, I can't even ... I don't know how to ... I ... That was incredible."

Eames smiles broadly and his eyes are lusty, like they were before he kissed Arthur for real for the first time. This snaps Arthur back into remembering that Eames still hasn't gotten off yet, which is kind of weird, considering that they almost always come within a minute or two each other, even--memorably--at the same time once or twice. 

"Can I ... Can I try ... I don't really know what to do and I'll probably suck at it, fuck that's now what I ... I mean not in the good way. But, well, can I try to do that to you?"

"You don't have to, if you don't want to, you know. I'm fine with what we usually do."

"I want to. I just don't know if I'll be any good at it. So can I, try at least?"

"Fucking hell yes."

Eames crawls up Arthur's body and nuzzles at his cheek. 

"I want to kiss you, but it's OK if you think that's gross. I understand. That's not what some people like, I know..."

Arthur turns his head and locks their mouths together, not giving one half of a fuck about tasting his own come in Eames' mouth. In fact, maybe he's a perv for thinking it, but it's kind of sexy, like a reminder of what just happened between them.

He's slightly more aware of their own impending lateness now that his head is clearing a bit. They should be at the flagpole right about now. Although he doesn't want to rush Eames' own orgasm, Arthur knows he can't indulge himself by continuing to kiss until he can no longer taste himself in Eames' mouth. So he pushes his boyfriend over until his back is on the floor and then crawls down on his hands and knees until he's face-to-face, so to speak, with Eames' dick. As he peels back the foreskin, Arthur looks at it up close for the first time, feeling a strange sense of affection for its rosy color and shiny, taut skin. 

"Darling, I mean it, you don't have to, I don't want to push," Eames says, apparently mistaking Arthur's examination for second thoughts.

"Are you kidding Eames? I've been dying to try this. Seriously, I've been thinking about it, like, a lot. I swear. I just don't want to be bad at it. Promise me you'll stop me if I su ... if I'm terrible."

"At the risk of embarrassing myself, let me console you by saying that I really don't think it's going to take that long or that you'll really have to employ any expert technique. I'm so, so close just from listening to you."

Eames is blushing again and Arthur is overwhelmed with affection. Before he can talk himself out of it, he leans down and closes his mouth around the head, which feels so strange, and yet so round and plump and sexy and just plain nice in his mouth. Experimentally, he swirls his tongue around in a circle and Eames keens in response. 

"This is going to be fun," Arthur thinks.

Eames is right. It only takes a few minutes of Arthur experimentally licking and sucking and tugging on his dick before he exclaims, "stop!" and shoots come all over his own stomach when Arthur lifts his head to ask what he did wrong. 

Arthur eases his way up Eames' side and pouts once his face is in full view. But he effect is somewhat diminished when Arthur sees Eames' dreamy expression and hazy eyes. 

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I didn't want to make you swallow. It's sort of shocking to the system at first, and I didn't want to make you choke or get disgusted with me or anything. Please don't look at me that way. You did so beautifully. God that was just ... just lovely, my brave Arthur."

Arthur's pleased, but also sort of embarrassed to be called brave for something Eames has apparently done many times himself with that awful guy from school, maybe both of those awful guys from school. 

Displaying his uncanny ability to read Arthur's thoughts, Eames adds: "That's only the second time anyone's ever done that for me, you know. Now we're all evened up, you and me."

"What about, you know, what we usually do? Is that something you did with ... other people?"

"Same. Pathetic, I know, considering how many times I've gotten someone else off, to have only had the one night for myself, so to speak. Until I met you, of course."

Eames' voice sounds sad, so Arthur kisses him and says, "well I'm looking to get lots and lots of practice before the end of the summer, so let's see if we can't even that score."

Eames laughs and kisses Arthur's cheek. 

"Come on, let's attempt to sneak back to the rest of the group without being called out," he says.


	16. Between Sessions: In Town

There is something so freeing, so adrenaline-rush generating, about being away from camp for the first time in two months. Every joke seems hilarious. Every bite of food tastes delicious. Even the air feels more fresh and invigorating. 

Arthur is squashed into a booth at a diner on the outskirts of town. Eames' hand is resting on his leg and they're both laughing way too hard at Ari racing Robert to see who can eat eat more Saltines in two minutes with no water. Taryn and Yusuf are flipping through the paper looking at movie showtimes and bickering over the limited options available. Doug is making moony eyes at his boyfriend behind the counter .

Dom and Mal are two booths down, drinking coffee, pretending to be full-on grownups and studiously ignoring the table of six--with one at the end--where Arthur and his friends are seated. Mal's probably pissed that he and Eames aren't helping her shop for a decorative moose head or something. She needs to get over it. 

It's hard to believe that just a few hours ago Arthur had been barely maintaining control of his campers through the second session's final breakfast. 

From the second he'd opened his eyes, Arthur realized that his authority disappeared overnight, along with every other counselor's. He must not have noticed or cared about the change last time, because he'd been in such a black mood about the punishment from Saito. 

("The punishment that turned into the best fucking part of my summer," he thought as he yelled at the campers to get their asses up to the mess, or risk getting left behind. "If not my life so far," he added, thinking about all the things he didn't understand or know just eight weeks ago.) 

But, honestly, he hadn't been able to bring himself to give much of a fuck about the total lack discipline. He'd been far too excited about spending the afternoon in town and, especially, about spending the night at Saito's house--spending the night with Eames; spending the night with Eames in the same bed. 

He'd been sitting at a raucous table, particles of cereal literally flying through the air--thank God Saito hired a cleaning service between sessions--when Arthur had steeled himself to do something he'd been thinking about for days, but hadn't had the courage to actually do. He'd let it get right down to the wire.

He stood, cast a wary glance around the table, and marched through the kitchen's swinging double doors. Arthur's heart pounded in his chest when Doug looked up, surprised and maybe a little scared himself. 

"Do you need something?"

"What? ... Uh no. I was wondering if I could ... uh ... if I could talk to you for a sec." 

"Look you don't have anything to worry about, OK."

"What?" How could Doug have known what he was here to ask, Arthur wondered?

"With your ... with Eames. It was a mistake."

"I'm not worried about that," Arthur said, surprised to realize that it was 100 percent true as the words escaped his mouth. 

"Then ... ?" Doug asked, gesturing broadly, tone somewhat aggressive. 

"I wanted to know if it is going to be a problem in town, me and Eames together, like if we hold hands or whatever. I mean, 'cause you're from here and all."

Doug's expression was unreadable--confused, sad, irritated--and Arthur had felt awful for putting him on the spot like that, without knowing the first thing about his life growing up here. 

"I really wouldn't know,"he finally answered, tone flat.

Arthur had tried to think what Eames, in his social genius, would do to smooth this conversation. 

"'Cause we couldn't where I grew up. Not without causing a huge stir and maybe getting in a fight. I'm not totally sure. But I didn't know if it might be different up here. Anyway ... I don't want to bother you. I just thought I'd ask and not just because ... well ... ." An awful feeling centered itself in the pit of Arthur's stomach. He was failing. "I mean I'd ask anyone who grew up here, not just you, specifically."

Doug had glared at him. 

"Is that all?"

"No," Arthur hadn't known he was going to say that until he did. "Do you want to, like, hang out in town? You never really stay once the campers go to bed. And I get it, because I'd probably do the same thing if I ... if I were in your situation. But I thought maybe since you don't have to rush out of here today, maybe we could all ... You could invite your ... if you want ... you could invite your, you know, boyfriend."

"He works during the day, same as me. At my dad's diner. Short order. That's how I got this job, from growing up working there." 

"Well we could go there and eat. No offense, but I'm starving for real food."

"None of the counselors ever want to go. It's like almost a mile from where you drop the campers. It's my second summer and no one ever wants to do that." 

"I do. I'll go. Eames will too. ... Unless, unless that's a bad idea?"

"No, it's OK. Just ... maybe introduce him as Eames, not Tristan, just in case, if you introduce him at all. To Carl. That's my boyfriend's name."

"Yeah, OK." 

"And ... Arthur, don't tell anyone about Carl, OK. My dad doesn't know. He can't find out, OK."

"Yeah, OK. I get it. Believe me."

And that's how Arthur had found himself convincing first Eames, then Yusuf then Ari to join him at Doug's father's diner. Taryn had followed Yusuf--who god willing, would finally hook up with someone before the summer ended--and Robert had followed Ari. It wasn't quite clear how Dom and Mal had ended up following them down the road, but sitting separately. They were getting more mysterious every day.

And now here he is, having what he's pretty sure are the best blueberry pancakes on the face of the earth and feeling equal parts satisfied and discomforted by the proud looks Eames keep shooting him when everyone else is distracted. 

They lose Doug when they leave the diner. He says he's staying behind to "help out," but it's plain as day to Arthur that all Doug wants is to be around Carl--even if they're pretending to be just close buddies under the eyes of Doug's father. 

Arthur can't help but think about his own family and wonder how and when he'll eventually tell them that he's gay. He wonders if they suspect--if they started to do so even before Arthur himself had this past Spring. 

On the one hand, Doug's father seems completely oblivious to the heated glances his son keeps giving his short-order cook (so does everyone else at the table except for Arthur and Eames, come to think of it). On the other hand, Doug's father certainly seemed a little concerned about his son's lack of friends at camp and a bit too enthusiastic about having this whole gang show up unexpectedly. But that could just be Arthur projecting his own fears on to a situation that is more about Doug's friendships growing up than his sexuality. 

"If those things can even be separated," Arthur thinks, suddenly glum in the midst of his happiness. "Why is this so damn hard?"

As they walk out the door, Eames gives Arthur a half smile and a friendly squeeze to the shoulder. 

"I know exactly what you're thinking, mate," he says. 

Warmth washes through Arthur's belly. He feels so lucky to have someone like Eames around who understands him, even when Arthur hardly understands himself. But it's followed by a cold finger of fear spearing his chest. Someday, he won't have Eames around to offer him advice between bouts of fooling around. Someday very soon. 

"Dammit! This is not the time to start thinking about the end of camp," Arthur chastises himself. "Today is just supposed to be fun and perfect. No worrying!"

As they round the corner on the way to the movie theater, Arthur reaches out and laces his fingers through Eames's. 

Arthur can hardly concentrate during the movie. Eames starts out holding his hand, but he eventually migrates to resting his palm on Arthur's knee, which then turns into stroking his hand up and down Arthur's thigh. 

Arthur is shifting around in his chair, absolutely dying to turn and kiss Eames, but too proud to resort to making out in the movie theater like a damn cliche (or like his sister who once had to call their parents to pick her up when she'd gotten in trouble for "lewd acts" during a movie). So instead he lifts his arm and curls it partway around Eames's shoulder, then slowly inches his fingers upward to stroke the back of Eames's neck and card through his short hair. Arthur feels momentarily better when Eames starts rolling his neck and leaning into Arthur's touch. But the victory is fleeting, as now Arthur only wants him more. 

When the movie ends, Arthur has to take a moment to adjust himself before the lights come up. He's embarrassed at the idea that anyone else might have noticed, but he sincerely hopes that Eames does. 

"You are bloody killing me," Eames leans over and whispers in his ear. 

Arthur smiles in return.

"Oh and you think you're not doing the same to me?"

They hold hands again as they exit the theater. Yusuf and Taryn are arguing with Ari about one of the plot points that Arthur must have missed when his mind wandered to fantasies of being alone with Eames later. 

"What do you think Eames, was the computer thing stupid and confusing or intense? What did you think about the password?"

"Frankly, Ari, I don't give a damn," Eames responds in a ridiculously good imitation of Rhett Butler, and everyone bursts into laughter.

Ari wants to go back to the bus to get her guitar and sit out in the town square playing it. Robert, of course, is on board to join her. Yusuf shrugs at the idea, side-eyeing Taryn's response. She says she'll hang for a minute, but really wants to look in some of the shops for a gift to bring her parents. 

"I need to get some new pencils," Eames says, "I think I'm going to pop round to the art supply shop, Arthur will you join me?"

Arthur nods, relieved. He adores Ari, naturally, and is pretty much comfortable hanging out with Robert at this point, but he doesn't want to waste the afternoon doing something that he does all the time at camp--lounging around on the grass, talking and listening to Ari play. Well, that's not entirely true, there's one thing he does quite frequently at camp that he'd like to figure out a way to do here in town. But that's not exactly something he can do in in the town square, not without getting arrested for public indecency.

Eames bustles them down the street and pulls Arthur into the cafe, rather than the art store. 

"I do need pencils, actually. But for the most part I just wanted to get away," he says. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I had no desire to sit around doing exactly what we do every afternoon."

"Would you be disappointed in me if I were beginning to wish that we'd been punished for being late that day after all."

"I was basically thinking the exact same thing during the whole damn movie."

They stand in the entryway staring at each other, a blush creeping up Eames's cheeks.

Finally Eames says, "Well no help for it now. Let's find something to distract ourselves." 

They end up playing Scrabble, of all things. Eames is a terrible speller, but has a ridiculously huge vocabulary, so they're actually pretty evenly matched. 

"Where were you when I was studying for the SATs? I could have used a vocab tutor." 

"I'm not sure that would have been terribly productive, darling." 

"I don't know. I'm sure you could have found some kind of incentives for me to learn more words."

"But I'd be awful at denying your reward, when it's just as much mine."

"Jesus, you know I'm not stupid, Eames! It wouldn't have been so hard."

"Oh wouldn't it, darling?"

"You're terrible."

Eames smirks and gets a huge score on "adoxography," which Arthur has to look up to make sure is an actual word. Turns out it is. Lord knows how Eames managed to spell it right. 

"You're terrible and I hate you."

"What I hate is this tea. Why is the water tepid? What is wrong with this country?"

"Says the guy who's signed on to spend four years here." 

"First thing I'm doing when I arrive in Chicago is buying an electric kettle, yeah."

"So you can burn your dorm room down?"

"Arthur I cannot survive on warm dust water for my entire university experience. You can't make an omlette without breaking a few eggs. If I must sacrifice some items to smoke damage, I'm willing."

"You're roommate is going to love you." 

Eames's expression crumples the tiniest bit. Arthur feels simultaneously annoyed with himself for accidentally triggering one of Eames's fears and flattered that his poker-faced boyfriend apparently doesn't feel the need to hide his emotions from Arthur. 

"I was just kidding. How could he not? You were, like, the most popular counselor on staff from pretty much day one. Everyone loves you." 

"Why the fuck did I just say love? Oh Jesus fuck. Please, please, please let him leave it alone."

"It's easy at camp, isn't it? But certainly my schoolmates didn't feel such affection for me. In fact, I was pretty much universally regarded as an occasionally fun bloke when pissed, but mostly too strange and too quiet not to be above suspicion under ordinary circumstances. Or at least post-Calum anyway. I'm sure university will be more like that than this."

"Eames, get real. You're going to fucking art school. It's going to be full of quote-unquote weird kids. What is this panic attack about?"

Eames bites his lip, then shakes his head.

"It's nothing. Your comment just struck a note with me. Not to worry. I'm fine."

Arthur eyes him. He doesn't exactly want to have a big conversation about Eames going off to college in a few weeks right now, because, well he doesn't want to think about it at all. But he's willing to, if that's what Eames needs. After all Eames was so patient with Arthur during his own little breakdowns about Robert and their first kiss and all that stupidness. Arthur can't not return the favor.

"Are you OK?"

"Fine, yeah. I just went to a strange place for a moment there. But I'm fine. I promise. Let's play."

Arthur is all to happy to let it go. He doesn't ever want to talk about what will happen after camp ends. He's content to live in denial that they'll all get to stay together here forever. 

The game comes right down to the wire, but Eames wins by just a handful of points in the end. Arthur could not possibly care less about losing, not when Eames grins at him boyishly and kisses his fingers across the table in apology. 

"Let's go see about those pencils, yeah?" he said.

Arthur wanders around the art supply store, picking up and discarding random objects while Eames spends ages riffling through the paper in different notebooks, two boxes of pencils stuck in the back pocket of his too-loose jeans and a paintbrush tucked behind his ear. He looks like a highly unskilled pickpocket and Arthur's chest feels tighten with longing, even though they're only feet apart. How could he have found this amazing person and have to give him up so soon afterward? 

"Stop! Stop thinking about it," Arthur chastises himself.

He walks up and slips an arm around Eames's waist, removing one of the pencil containers. 

"Trying to steal these?" he teases

"Officer, I'm innocent. I swear," Eames responds.

"Tell it to the judge," Arthur deadpans and swats Eames on the ass with the box.

They make their way back to the bus, a few minutes early for the designated meeting time. Eames nudges Arthur and tilts his head in the direction of Yusuf, who appears to be having his palm read by Taryn. 

"About bloody time," he whispers. 

Dom appears carrying an insane number of pizza boxes with Mal at his side carrying bags of chips and several gallons of ice cream. 

"I suddenly feel like I'm going to a middle school slumber party," Arthur murmurs. 

"Yeah but check this out," Ari says from behind, startling him. 

She points through the back window of the bus, where he can see cases and cases of beer hidden under the seats. 

"We can't get them out, until Saito goes off to sleep in his office, but unless your middle school parties were a lot different than mine were, Arthur, then it will be a lot better than just stuffing our faces and watching television."

Arthur and Eames exchange glances. 

"How does it work with rooms, Ari?" Arthur asks, because that's all he really wants to know. "Are there enough for everyone, or am I going to have to throw some elbows getting off the bus?"

"No not enough for everyone, but most of us just piled on the big king-sized guest bedroom last time. Well except for Dom and Mal. But most of us were all in there. We make it work." 

"But ... what about, don't you want to share a room with Robert?"

Ari's eyes get wide as dinner plates. 

Eames squeezes Arthur's shoulder, "I'll give you two some privacy, yeah" he says and wanders over to talk to Patrick. 

"Do you ... do you think he's expecting that? I hadn't even thought of it. Are you ... do you want to sleep with Eames?"

"Fuck yes I do," Arthur responds. Then he looks around to make sure no on is eavesdropping and adds, " ... I mean just to sleep in the same bed, not ... well ... more than that ... more than ... not more than usual." 

God as embarrassing as it can be to talk about stuff like this with Eames, it is about a thousand times more embarrassing to talk about it with someone else, even Ari. 

"I don't want to know," Ari says, covering her ears with her hands. "Preserve my innocence."

Arthur rolls his eyes and removes her hands.

"Ari, I don't have any desire to talk to you about anything that happens behind closed doors between me and Eames. I just want to know if we can have privacy. Otherwise what's the point of any of this? We can go back and sleep in his cabin." 

"I think it will be OK. I don't know. It seemed like there were lots of empty rooms last time, but I also wasn't really thinking about it."

"Well where did you and Robert ... get together, or whatever?"

"Just in the living room. It was only ... we were just kissing."

They stand in awkward silence. 

"Arthur," Ari whispers. "Do you think Robert is expecting to sleep together tonight?"

"How should I know, Ari? Jesus, don't you talk about this stuff? I'm sure he'd like to, but I couldn't even begin to know what he expects. That's your job."

"Should I ask him? What do I say? What should I do?" Ari is tugging on his arm, sounding slightly panicky in her whispers. Arthur is at a loss. He assumed the other camp couples talked about what they wanted and didn't want just like he and Eames did. How could he have known that the two of them were apparently doing something abnormal or unusual, when it felt so right and natural? 

He sighs, afraid of getting involved in someone else's relationship, especially one that's already caused drama in his life. 

"Do you want to Ari? If you don't, then just tell him you're not comfortable. If you do, then do." 

"I don't know if I could sleep in the same bed and not be nervous. I mean sleeping in the same bed seems like something you shouldn't do unless you're ... you know ... sleeping together."

Arthur doesn't get it. He always likes having a cuddle with Eames after they get each other off. Ever since that first night when he'd sneaked into Eames's cabin, he's wished that they could fall asleep still entangled with each other. But he's not about to express that to Ari. Obviously her relationship is different from his in ways that Arthur had never before realized. 

"Look Ari, you just have to do whatever makes you feel comfortable. It doesn't sound like you're into this idea. If Robert brings it up, just tell him that you don't want to. And if that answer isn't good enough for him, then come find me--no matter what I'm doing--and I'll punch him in the face. It's simple." 

"You must be the best boyfriend, Arthur. Eames is really lucky. Tell him I'm jealous." 

"Never. It would only make him smug," Arthur responds and bumps Ari's hip in a friendly way.

On the bus, Arthur formulates a plan.

"Give me your bag and your hoodie," he whispers to Eames. I'm going to jump off and find us a room right away. You try to distract anyone who looks competitive." 

Eames rolls his eyes, but complies.

"I'm sure it will be fine, darling. If it comes down to it, we can go down to my cot at the camp and you can be as loud as you want." 

Arthur's mouth falls open. 

"Shhhhh!" he hisses, glancing around to see if anyone overheard. 

Eames himself is blushing bright red, but grinning like the cat that ate the canary all the same. 

"Am I the canary in this situation?" Arthur wonders.

When the bus pulls up to Saito's house, Arthur is off like a shot, and he's not the only one. Alice is hunting for a room and it looks like Dan is, too. So's that fucker Nash. Arthur will go to Hell and back before he lets that asshole beat him to a real bed. Taryn seems to be looking, but trying not to be obvious about it. 

"The basement guest room is mine! I'm your boss. Don't even think about taking it!" Dom calls upstairs. Almost all the rooms up here have goddamn bunk beds, except for the big one with the TV, the locked door at the end of the hall that must be Saito's and a closet-sized room with just a futon mattress on the floor. The last one would have been perfect, actually, but someone's already got their stuff in there. Arthur sprints downstairs and throws Eames's stuff into the guest room off the main living area, which has two single beds. 

"This is mine," he says when Nash pokes his head in the door. Nash glances over at the second bed, longingly. "Not a fucking chance," Arthur responds. 

Seconds after Nash leaves with an ugly sneer, Eames rounds the door with smile. 

Arthur feels giddy with freedom all over again. They have this room. They have whole night together with no chores and no campers. And he has his brand-new realization after talking to Ari that maybe his relationship is in a better place than he'd ever thought compared to the rest of the counselors. He feels flirtatious and bold.

"You haven't broken all my pencils in some sort of territorial fight, have you?" Eames asks. 

"No but I'm holding them hostage because of what you said on the bus." 

"No one heard, Arthur. I was whispering."

"Still! I can't believe you!"

"I'm very, very sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?"

"I don't know yet ... something. Why don't you come over here and we can talk about it?"

Eames closes the door and saunters across the room. He stops just in front of where Arthur is sitting on the bed and straddles his legs. Looking up at where Eames is standing over him, Arthur suddenly feels a little dizzy, like he's just about to drop over the top curve of a roller coaster. 

Eames has a look in his eye that's far from his usual playful twinkle. Arthur can see Eames's chest moving, breathing harder than normal. His eyes are lowered, lashes casting shadows across his cheekbones. He reaches out and touches Arthur's cheekbone with a paint-stained thumb. 

"You are so ... so ... perfect ... perfectly gorgeous Arthur. I can't even bloody stand it sometimes."

Arthur brings his hands up to rest gently on Eames's hips. He's scared about where this conversation is heading. He doesn't--he really doesn't--want to talk about the future right now, but he doesn't have the mental strength to stop Eames, either, if that's where he's going.

But then Eames is sitting down on Arthur's closed legs, squeezing Arthur's torso with his knees and leaning down to kiss Arthur like they haven't seen each other in days. Arthur is instantly rock hard, pulling Eames down into his lap and grinding up against him in a rhythm that borders on desperate, unable to get enough of this feeling between them. 

They're rolling around on the bed a few minutes later, groping each other over their clothes and trying to stay quiet when there's a knock on the door.

"Group meeting in five," Dom's voice calls. 

"Buggering fuck!" Eames whispers through his teeth. Arthur actually punches the damn pillow like a character in a movie. 

They roll onto their backs, starring at the ceiling and trying to get their breathing under control. 

"I am going to wring Dom's neck," Arthur says.

"Arsehole, he couldn't have made his little announcements on the bus?" 

They exchange wry smiles, heads side-by-side on the pillow. 

"Thank you for getting us a room."

"No problem. I know we could have gone to your cabin, but isn't this so much better? Anyway, I couldn't have Nash getting to sleep in a bed and us cramed together on a cot. That would just be wrong. He actually asked if he could have the second bed."

"Wanker."

"OK let's go out there."

Arthur rolls off the bed. 

"I don't want to be the last ones and have everyone make a big deal out of it. Do I look OK?"

"Beautiful."

"I mean ... " Arthur pauses to squeeze Eames's hand and pull him up to standing. "Thank you. But I mean do I look, you know ... disheveled? Like I've been ... "

"Seconds away from taking off all your clothes and doing filthy things to your boyfriend? No. You're fine. Me?"

"You always kinda look like that ... "

Eames punches him playfully in the arm. 

"No you're good. Let's go."

When they're all gathered around the living room, Dom stands on the coffee table--"pretty inconsiderate," Arthur thinks--and says:

"OK everybody, I want us to remember to stay safe tonight. Saito will be spending the night in his office and he'll leave us alone, as long as we earn his trust. We've got beer on the bus, but I want everyone to remember to drink responsibly, even though we have the whole camp to ourselves. Please don't let anyone wander off alone. If you notice someone missing, come find me or Mal immediately. No drunk swimming. And for the love of God, no drunk archery. Remember that we're in Saito's home, so please treat his belongings with respect. Don't break anything and don't try to unlock the door to his bedroom upstairs. Also, no showering up here. If you want one, go down to the camp. His water heater isn't equipped to handle all of us. Remember, Saito doesn't have to do this for us and if we don't earn it, he can take it away next year for any of you who will be returning, not to mention closing down the counselor's shack during the final session. Lastly, Mal ... " 

Dom gestures his hand backward and she places a giant blue Tupperware container in his grasp. Ari, standing to Arthur's left suddenly grabs his wrist while people around the room giggle nervously.

"Thank you. This container is full of condoms. I'm certainly not encouraging anyone to have sex. Please don't tell your parents I said anything like that. But if you're going to, for the love of all that's holy, please use one of these. I'm going to leave them in the kitchen, next to the fruit bowl, so anyone can just grab one if they need it, no questions asked. And don't anyone be a smart-ass and try to damage them, or turn them into water balloons, OK. This is really fucking serious here. Go goof off with crap from the sports cupboards, if you have to throw things at each other, OK." 

Arthur frees his wrist gives Ari a pointed look.

"Remember what I said," he leans over and whispers. 

Eames, ever observant, gives her neck a gentle pat as the group breaks apart and Mal starts handing out pizza boxes and bags of chips. 

Arthur slides his arm around Eames's waist as Ari runs over to help with the distribution. 

"So ... everyone is going to be sitting right outside our door eating pizza. Maybe my room selection wasn't so great after all. I should have settled for bunk beds." 

"I don't know, one of us would surely have ended up black and blue if we'd attempted that, no? Let's just wait it out, they're sure to disburse once everyone's full." 

Arthur pouts. 

"I'm not even hungry."

"We could just be really, really quiet and lock the door ... There was a lock, no?"

Arthur frowns. 

"I don't know ... and I'd feel sort of ... weird ..."

"So, let's go down to my cabin for a bit, yeah?"

Arthur can feel his face lighting up. Then he thinks about Nash.

"What if Nash tries to take our room while we're gone?"

"Then we'll kick him out when he gets back and sleep in the other bed."

"Let me ask Ari to watch it for us."

"Good idea. She seems to want a project to keep her occupied."

Ten minutes later they're wandering down the hill toward camp, Ari having promised to watch their room like a hawk. 

"I told her we'd be back in time for her to join this skinny dipping thing later," Arthur says. "For the record, I am not doing that."

"Oh my stars, no," Eames responds. "The last thing in the world I want is to have other people around when I've got you naked."

He's blushing again, but smiling at the same time. 

"Remember that night of the big rainstorm?"

"How could I forget, Arthur?"

"Did you think I would follow you? Or were you just going to run off into the night and never speak of it again?"

"Well ... I hoped you might raise the subject either later that night or at a future date. But ... I wasn't entirely certain. You seemed ... fairly well occupied with other thoughts." 

"I'm really glad I did."

Eames stops and turns so they're facing each other on the grass.

"Me also, darling."

And then they're kissing and racing down the hill, barging through the doors of Eames's cabin and hurling themselves toward the cot. 

Two orgasms later, Arthur is lying spent with Eames's head on his shoulder and Eames's hair in his face. He's pretty sure there's some dried come on his ear after an aborted attempt to learn how to swallow. 

The sounds of rain hitting the roof are lulling him into a doze.

"We're going to get soaked going back up to the house, but at least we don't have to worry about Ari's swimming plans."

"Does that mean you want to have another go?"

"Eames, I pretty much always want to go again. If we didn't have jobs and families and school, I would want nothing but to laze around in bed with you every day, talking and fooling around. I need to make up for all those lost years of being clueless."

It's way more open that Arthur is usually willing to be about his ever-growing feelings. But he's a little lightheaded after holding back all day and then getting off twice in quick succession. Anyway, it doesn't seem to matter. Eames is blushing beet red, but his eyes are shining with happiness.

"Also, I, you know, like you and everything." 

And suddenly Arthur is on his back and Eames is tickling him. 

"Ow! Jesus! Stop this is awful! Why do I deserve ... oh stop, stop, stop!"

Before long their tickle fight has devolved into rutting against each other while Arthur kisses Eames's ear--something guaranteed to make him squirm. Eames brings their dicks together with a spit-slick hand and starts stroking.

Arthur's limbs feel like jelly a few minutes later when Eames rolls off of him and squeezes so they're side-by-side on the cot. 

"OK, now I'm hungry," he says. "Starving, in fact. Are you up for braving the elements?" 

"I've my wellies with me. What could go wrong?" Eames replies. 

They're fighting the wind and the rain, slogging through the mud, when a clattering sound catches Arthur's attention. He looks up and his heart lurches. 

"Eames," he says, pulling on his boyfriend's arm. "Eames, look."

Eames follows Arthur's gaze to the roof of the mess hall, where Mal is standing, braced against a nearby tree, face raised to the sky." 

"She's gone round the twist. Fucking hell," Eames mutters and takes off running. Arthur follows. 

They're both calling her name as they approach, but their voices are lost to the elements. Finally, just as they arrive under the hall's eaves, she looks down. 

"Mal, what are you doing? Get down here!" Arthur calls. 

"Oh so now you want to spend time with me? I was not interesting enough this afternoon but now you find me worthy again?"

"Mal," Eames says in his most stern, counselor-y voice. "Why don't you come down here and we can talk about it. I'm very sorry that you felt excluded, but I promise you would have been welcome to spend time with us. We just didn't want to go shopping."

"I'm not going down there! I hate it here. Go get Saito and make him throw me out. Take my job. I don't care anymore!"

"Mal! You are talking crazy! Please, please come down! We can do whatever you want, OK! Just, stop talking like that." Arthur shouts. 

"Come up here and get me, if it is so important! Are you afraid?"

Arthur and Eames exchange worried glances. 

"Go get Cobb," Eames finally says. "I'll go up there and try to get her to sit down at least."

"Don't be chivalrous with me, Eames. I'm just as capable as you are. Just because I'm younger and smaller, doesn't mean I can't climb a tree."

"Don't be daft, Arthur. Of course you can. But if I fall and break a limb, I'm not going to miss out on my final shot at being a school tennis star. You would. At worst, I'll miss out on a few week's worth of life-drawing classes. I can cope."

"Yeah, but what if you break your neck? ... Don't don't break your neck."

"I won't, darling. I promise. But could we live with ourselves if we don't try to help her and she does?"

Arthur sighs. He turns to run up to the house, then pauses and kisses Eames quickly on the lips, just in case.

The run is a slog. Arthur's afraid of pulling a muscle, but he goes as fast as he can, bursting through the door of Saito's place covered in mud. 

"Where's Dom?" he asks the group of counselors lounging around the kitchen with beers in their hands.

Someone points him in the direction of the front porch, where he sees Ari and Nash standing in front of Dom. Ari's face is red and her hands are waving wildly in the air. 

Motherfucker! 

"Dom," Arthur interrupts.

"Arthur, are you here to protect your room? I'm not letting Nash take it. Don't worry."

"No it's not about that ... I mean I still want that room, but ... I have to talk to you about something else ... in private." 

"Well can't it wait until we've straightened this out?"

"No, Dom, it really can't. ... Please."

Arthur tries to make his voice and expression calm, so no one else will get curious and follow them down the hill. But he needs Dom to understand that he's not fucking around here. 

Dom frowns at Arthur.

"Dammit, Dom, I need to talk to you in private. Just trust me, OK. This is a conversation that you want to have with me."

An element of concern enters Dom's expression.

"OK, get out of here, you two. Nash, you don't get the room. People don't forfeit their rights to it by leaving the house. If I find out you pushed this, then you're on night watch duty for two weeks. If you really need to be alone with someone, then go to your fucking cabin and quit whining."

Ari gives Arthur a questioning look. He doesn't know what to do, so he mouths "thanks; I'm sorry" and shrugs.The second they're alone, Arthur grabs Dom's arm and says, "come with me now. Mal's on the roof of the mess hall, screaming for Saito to throw her out."

Dom's face goes ashen and he leaps off the porch, running ahead of Arthur. They're careening down the hill, sliding across the grass when Mal and Eames come into sight, seated now, but still on the roof. 

Fuck, fuck fuck!

OK deep breaths. Deep breaths. 

"Mal, honey, Mal what are you doing? Please come down. Don't hurt yourself."

"I'm not coming down, Dominic. Not until you find Mr. Saito and get him to see me." 

"Mal, honey, that's crazy. I'm not doing it. Do you know what will happen if he comes down here? You won't just get booted. You're parents will come and take you back to Paris. Is that what you want? To spend your senior year of college at home in your childhood bedroom being fussed over by your mother and frowned at by your father?"

"No! But I can't stand it here any longer. Why did you make me come here, Dominic? You promised we would be together this summer! I thought you meant in Boston or in Pasadena, not back here! I am so tired of this place!"

"But Mal, this is where we met. This is where we found a home away from home together."

Arthur wants to sink down into the ground, he's so embarrassed to witness such a private conversation. But he can't leave with Eames still up on the roof. 

He can see that Mal is clutching Eames's arm as he leans over says something too quiet for them to hear from this distance. She shakes her head and pushes him away, causing them both to slide a foot or so down the corrugated iron roof. 

That is fucking it!

Arthur is livid. Mal is actually unhinged and he's not going to let her risk hurting anyone else, not after she could have so easily done so with the sleeping pils, and certainly not Eames. Fuck her!

"Fine! You want me to get Saito? I'm going to fucking get Saito! You can end up in a French looney bin for all I care about protecting you anymore!"

Arthur marches off in the direction of Saito's office. He hears Eames calling his name and turns around just in time to have Dom tackle him into the mud. 

"Get off me, asshole!" He says, shoving back at Dom's shoulders. 

Dom's knees are on Arthur's chest--surprise and size giving him a distinct advantage.

"You can't, Arthur. I won't let you. She will never recover from this. She won't graduate. She gave up all her internships to work here every summer, banking on a recommendation from Saito. But she won't get one if he kicks her out. Please, you have to listen to me."

"Dom, I don't care. She's got problems. You have to accept that. And I'm not letting Eames, or anyone else get hurt because she's falling apart. Now get the fuck off of me!"

He bucks up, throwing Dom's balance off enough that Arthur can get in a good shove and wiggle out from underneath him.

He's scrambling to his feet, when Dom attacks him again, pulling them both down into a barrel roll. Arthur's heart is racing as he pushes Dom away once more, and then jumps to his feet--more quickly now that he knows Dom intends to drag this out. 

"Arthur, I won't let you do this," Dom says, squaring off. 

Arthur hasn't been in a fight since he was nine. But his dad had taught him how to throw some solid boxing-style punches in middle school, after a boy in his class had gotten his ass kicked by older kids. He feels pretty confident that he can hold his own against Dom, even if the other boy is taller and broader shouldered.

Arthur makes a fist, unafraid of what hitting his senior counselor could mean for the rest of his summer. He knows he's in the right here. 

Dom lunges and Arthur catches him square in the jaw. 

"What the fuck, Arthur? I'm your boss!"

"Yeah, but how much can you do to me without involving Saito? You want to go get him and complain? I'll do it right now. I don't care." 

Dom's face is red, apparent even in the pitch darkness. He cuffs Arthur and manages to connect just under his eye. Pain spiderwebs out from the point of contact, but Arthur tries to stay focused. He can't afford to lose his head or sight of his goal here. 

"Dom, let me go. This is a pointless fight and is only causing more trouble," Arthur says as they circle each other, looking for opportunities.

"Arthur. You don't seem to understand. I'm not letting that happen."

Dom charges forward, head bowed. Arthur stands his ground and they grapple together, panting right into each other's ears. 

Suddenly, Arthur feels his opponent pulling away and looks up to see Eames hauling Dom off. 

Mal runs up, arms spread. Dom looks furious, but turns away from Arthur as if to embrace her. Eames, however, still has Dom by the shoulder and he leans forward menacingly.

"Don't think I didn't want to let Arthur pummel you, nor that I didn't want to help him. But let's focus on the real problem, yeah?"

Then he lets go, causing Dom to stumble forward slightly as he moves toward Mal.

Eames steps to Arthur and touches his cheek, which blooms with pain.

"Are you OK?"

"I think so. I'm still really keyed up. It's kind of killing the pain. You?"

"I'm freezing my bollocks off. But other than that, I'm fine."

"Let's get the fuck away from here then." 

"Agreed." 

Eames wraps his arm around Arthur's shoulder as Arthur winds his around Eames's waist. They plod up the hill, unwilling to let each other go. 

Thankfully, its dark when they climb the porch steps, where two people appear to be canoodling in the hammock. 

"Eames!"

It's Yusuf and Taryn, apparently.

"Everyone's upstairs watching movies, if you're interested," Taryn says.

"Going to go collapse in bed, if you don't mind," Eames responds

"If we still have one," Arthur adds.

"Your girl Ari looked out for you. Scrapped with Nash protecting your room."

"Bless her," Eames says as he kicks off his mud-caked shoes and stumbles inside. 

The air conditioning is running full blast, in spite of the storm-cooled air outside. Eames's teeth are chattering as he inspects Arthur's cheek. 

"Oh darling, you're bleeding."

"And we're both a mess. Fuck it, lets take a shower. What's Dom going to do that he hasn't already or might not tomorrow?"

Eames gives him a watery smile and Arthur pulls away to look for a linen closet. 

"Go ahead in the downstairs bathroom. I'll find us some towels and join you."

Eames nods, his whole body shuddering with cold.

By the time Arthur's located two towels, Eames is undressed and reaching a hand behind the curtain to adjust the shower temperature. 

Arthur nods for Eames to go ahead as he shucks his clothes and steps in to join him. 

"Darling, I have long dreamed of sharing a shower with you, but I don't think I have the energy just now to take advantage of the situation as I would like," Eames says, still shivering, even under the scalding water.

"Yeah, I'm glad we had time alone in the cabin, because right now all I want to do is shove some food in my face and pass out. I'm sorry. You're not disappointed, are you?"

"Oh my stars, no. I can barely stand, I'm so knackered." 

"I can still soap you up though, right?"

They clean the mud from each other's bodies and scrub each other's hair. Eames takes special care wiping the blood and dirt from the cut beneath Arthur's eye. 

It should be sexy, and it sort of is. But it's not the electrical thrill of most of their time together. It's softer at the edges. Gentle. He feels like they can take their time and come back to this when they're less wrung out. Arthur won't forget how Eames's scalp feels as he scrubs it or the slippery planes of Eame's skin under his soapy hands. He'll save these sensations up for later and use what he's learned from them in some future encounter, like the funny way Eames squirms when Arthur washes the backs of his knees or the way he simply melts at having his hair washed. 

They wrap up in the towels and grab their dirty clothes.

"Ugh, we'll have to wear these tomorrow morning, at least down the hill to get fresh ones. Gross." 

Arthur ducks into the kitchen and grabs a pizza box, while Eames arranges the quilts and pillows from both beds into a heat-preserving nest. 

They manage to arrange themselves under the blankets with the pizza balanced across their knees, Arthur allowing himself to sag slightly into Eames as his muscles start to protest the night's events. 

"Pineapple and mushroom?"

"It was the only whole pizza left."

Eames shrugs and digs in.

Two slices later, he pauses and turns to Arthur. 

"I'm sorry that you got into a fight because of me," he says in a small voice. 

Arthur opens his mouth to object. But he knows it would be a lie. He wouldn't have punched Dom for anyone else but Eames, not even Ari. 

"I'm sorry I automatically assumed that you were patronizing me by sending me to fetch Dom," he says instead. 

Eames smiles.

"You were well hard in that fight. When you hit Dom my jaw dropped. I had no idea you had that in you. ... It was right sexy." 

"My dad was on the boxing team in high school, back when such things existed, He taught me how to throw a real punch. Never thought I'd actually do it though. ... What do you think Dom'll do to me as a punishment?"

"Well he doesn't have the stones to tell Saito without risking Mal's position, so maybe he'll put you on night watch for the duration."

"He already threatened Nash two weeks of that just for trying to steal our room. This seems way worse ... I hit him in the face. The fucking face." 

"My boyfriend, the tough," Eames says and yawns.

He places the pizza box on the floor and snuggles down into the blankets. 

"Sorry I'm so pathetic. I should be rewarding your bravery, not nodding off like an old man." 

"You already made me come three times today. I'll consider them a pre-emptive reward," Arthur replies, wrapping his arm around Eames's waist and spooning behind him on the tiny twin bed. 

It wasn't the way he'd imagined falling asleep with Eames. But it's sweet all the same, knowing how they both looked out for each other when the shit went down with Dom and Mal. They feel like a real team.


	17. Third Session: Birthday Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Arthur's birthday. Eames surprises him a few times. He also participates of a camp tradition.

Arthur wakes to a gaggle of camper's faces looking down at him. He's about to start sniffing around for whatever prank is clearly being pulled when the boys burst into song. 

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Arthur! Happy birthday to you!"

Arthur sits up too quickly, head spinning. 

He sees Eames, Yusuf and Patrick standing in the corner, Eames grinning fit to burst and the other two rubbing sleep from their eyes. Eames is holding an enormous cake with chocolate frosting. Lord knows how on earth he got it to camp and sneaked it into Arthur's room without anyone noticing. Arthur suspects he had help from the kitchen. 

The usual birthday protocol is a doughnut with a candle in it and a song at breakfast. Eames clearly put a lot of thought into how to make the morning a little more special. It's hard not to cross the room and throw his arms around his boyfriend, caution be damned. But they'd agreed to keep their relationship secret from the campers and this surprise party is probably already pushing the limits of how close they can be without raising eyebrows. 

"Thanks guys!" Arthur says, as he reaches for the cake knife Yusuf's holding. "So ... who wants a slice? I'm guessing most of you would rather just skip it and go up to breakfast, right?"

The question is met with groans and boos. 

He passes out the slices to the campers from both cabins, saving four for the counselors. 

"How did you pull this off? I feel like a birthday slacker for only giving Ari a sack full of contraband candy."

"I have my methods." 

"Did those methods involve an assist from Doug?"

"A good agent never reveals his sources."

Arthur gives Eames' arm a friendly squeeze. It's all he can manage at the moment. Hopefully Eames understands.

DFC has arts and crafts right before quiet rest and it's torture watching Eames walk around the room or lean over to help children with their paint sets, clothes straining against his arms and cupping his ass in an obscene way. Afterward, Arthur is, perhaps, a little brusque as he rushes the kids up to the cabin. And he shamelessly runs back down to the art hut as soon as they're settled. 

"That was fast," Eames smirks.

"Off the record, I may have run," Arthur replies, moving forward and wrapping his arms around Eames' back, unable to wait even a second longer. 

When they kiss it's like a damn has been released. It's not like they hadn't made out at length and exchanged blowjobs the night before. But Arthur has been emotional all day about Eames' special, top-secret early morning birthday party and he needs to touch him as much as possible, _right freaking now_. He pushes Eames gently back against the table and is trying to ease him into lying back on it when Eames breaks away. 

"Hold on a tic," he rolls off the table and away from Arthur, who actually whines in complaint. 

"I've a present for you. And I'm a touch nervous about it, so ... just let me ... I don't want to say, 'get it out of the way,' but perhaps I do?"

Arthur laughs. 

"OK let's see it. Although you really didn't have to get me anything. The wake-up-call was seriously more than enough."

"Well I didn't _get_ you anything," Eames says, and Arthur prepares for innuendo. But he's surprised when Eames whispers, "I made it." 

He reaches into a shelf in the back and pulls out a flat rectangle wrapped in brown paper. He's more nervous than Arthur has ever seen him, even that night on the loading dock when he'd confessed his attraction. Arthur removes the tape from one side--tearing isn't his style--and slides out a pen-and-ink drawing of the camp's dock, stretching out into the lake at sunset, matted with creamy card stock. He gasps. It captures the laid-back beauty of the view perfectly. Arthur can even tell that it's supposed to depict the minutes before they send the kids to bed, as they sing the Camp Evergreen song around the bonfire.

"Eames, it's amazing. Seriously ... I, I love it. Thank you so much. I ... wow." 

He's blown away that Eames had taken the time to make this for him. It will be the perfect reminder of the best summer of Arthur's life when he's back at home, probably missing Eames and Ari with every bone in his body and hoping to god that they don't forget him entirely. 

"Really?" Eames asks. 

"Seriously. It's incredible. When did you do this?"

"Between lessons, when you were on patrol duty, here and there mostly." 

"I don't deserve it," he says, carefully setting the drawing on a clean shelf and moving toward Eames again. "You are the best first boyfriend a guy could ask for. Seriously, I am so lucky ... "

He trails off as he starts kissing Eames' neck and running his hand down Eames' sides. 

"I want you so much," he says, emboldened by emotion and gratitude, and pushes Eames down on the table, climbing to kneel over him. 

He grinds down hard against Eames, who arches off the table's surface and groans. Arthur pushes Eames' shirt up and off, covering his chest and stomach with soft kisses, unable to express what he's feeling except through these touches. He shoves Eames' shorts and underpants down and continues his regimen of tiny pecks and caresses, before opening up and swallowing Eames' dick in one slurp. 

"I rather think this should be the other way around," Eames interrupts, but his voice is hazy and he's not really fighting it. 

"Shut up. I'm the birthday boy and this is what I want." 

Arthur is getting better at this. He can tell because Eames has stopped being quite so careful and considerate while it's happening. Not that he's pushy. He just lets himself go now and enjoys it without worrying about freaking Arthur out. 

Not that Arthur is anywhere close to scared upset. He fucking loves this. He enjoys it in a way that he never could have predicted in a thousand years. Before this summer, when he'd thought about what having sex would be like, he'd only ever thought of it in terms of himself. He'd never considered that giving someone else pleasure would be almost as fun. Of course, he'd also usually tried to imagine it with a woman, so obviously he'd been going about things all wrong. 

But for the moment, he can think of no better birthday present than feeling his mouth slide around Eames, eliciting more of those amazing gasps and moans. Even when his throat starts feeling a little sore from the head of Eames' dick bumping against it and saliva is threatening to run down his chin, Arthur savors the experience, noting every reaction. 

"Darling ... _darling_ ," Eames pants, frantically squeezing Arthur's shoulder, letting him know that he's about to come.

Arthur has mostly learned to swallow, but sometimes he gets the timing wrong. He takes a deep breath through his nose, sucks hard and braces himself as a hot burst of come floods into his mouth. He waits until he's pretty sure Eames is done before pulling off and tilting his head back to swallow it down successfully.

Usually, when they do this, the first one to come takes a minute-or-so grace period to recover before reciprocating. But now Eames is sitting up and kissing Arthur with no decrease in intensity from earlier. He moves to flip their positions, but Arthur grabs his shoulders and stops him.

"No," he exhales. "Use your hands, I want to keep kissing you." 

He feels a bit demanding, ordering Eames to do what he's in the mood for without asking what Eames wants. But it's his birthday, and anyway, he knows Eames doesn't mind from the groan he gives in response to Arthur's request. 

Eames has learned a lot over the past month or so about what Arthur likes. He'd even watched Arthur do this to himself once, which started out embarrassing and ended up brutally hot. What's funny is that Arthur likes Eames to work his hand differently than he would do on his own. It just compounds the excitement to throw a different technique into the mix.

He's kissing Eames, then gasping and panting into Eames' face, then kissing him again, all while Eames absolutely takes him apart with one hand on his dick and the other tight on his hipbone. He comes so hard that it gets everywhere, all over his own shirt and Eames' torso--still bare, thank God. 

"Oh fuck, I'm so sorry." 

But Eames just laughs and laughs. 

"Bound to happen sooner or later, yeah," he says and hops up to wet some paper towels at the sink. 

Arthur takes his shirt off and tries to sponge it clean, but he'll have to wear it inside out for the meeting at the flagpole. 

Before they can get too absorbed in tidying up, Arthur grabs Eames and presses their foreheads together. 

"Thank you," he whispers, giving Eames a gentle kiss. "Best birthday since the one where my mom hired a clown and he made Bobby Fitzpatrick cry." 

\---

Arthur and Eames have been avoiding the counselors shack for the past week, but there's no help for it on his birthday when tradition trumps all.

Things have been a bit awkward since the fight. It had been impossible to hide Arthur and Dom's cuts and bruises the morning afterward. Their official story, clumsily churned out in front of Saito,was that horseplay had gotten out of hand. But that didn't stop the gossip from flying all over camp. 

Half the counselors were convinced that Dom had caught Arthur and Mal together, which was just utterly ridiculous. The other half believed that Arthur had caught Dom and Eames together, which was even more ridiculous. Either way, a lot of counselors were nervous to be seen socializing with Arthur and Eames, convinced that Dom would somehow punish them for it. 

Not Ari, of course, to whom Arthur had told the whole story, on pain of death if she told anyone else, even Robert. It seemed only fair, since she'd been involved in reaching out to Mal in the first place. Yusuf was on their side as well, although he claimed he didn't want to know any details about the situation. He was satisfied to trust Eames that whatever gossip he'd heard was false. 

As a result, they usually spend their quiet rest hanging out near the tennis courts where Arthur and Robert played against each other, Ari strummed her guitar, Eames sketched in one of his books, and Yusuf and Taryn argued about movies or videogames or comics or some such thing. They've taken to spending nights together down at the art hut, isolated from everyone else. 

But it's a tradition that counselors must participate in a single round of truth or dare on their birthdays and enough people have mentioned it in passing all day that Arthur knows he won't be exempt. 

"Please make them be nice to me," Arthur pleads with Eames on the walk down. 

"Do you honestly believe anyone is going to listen to my suggestions in this matter?"

Arthur sighs. 

"No, I suppose not. Just ... use reverse psychology or something. Please."

"Which are you going to pick?"

"'Dare.' Jesus, even if we weren't in this mess with Dom and Mal that everyone is just _dying_ to know about I probably wouldn't have picked 'truth.' Now I definitely can't. I mean I don't give a fuck about protecting Dom, but Mal ... she's ill or, at the very least, in a bad place. I don't really feel right about sharing that with anyone else."

"Agreed," Eames says, and grabs Arthur's hand. 

Just then, Mal pops out onto the path, as if summoned by their conversation. 

"Wait please, may I speak with you for a moment?" she asks, face crumpled with worry. 

Arthur nods and they step off into the trees. 

"How are you?" Eames asks, as soon as she stops walking and turns toward them. 

She shrugs. 

Arthur surprises himself by blurting out, "I'm sorry." 

Both Eames and Mal look at him, shocked. 

"No, no Arthur. It is I who am the sorry one," Mal interjects. 

"We can both be sorry," he responds. "I'm sorry that we avoided you in town that day. That wasn't very nice. But I'm still mad at you for putting Eames in danger."

She looks meekly at the ground, but Arthur can see that her lip is trembling.

"Hey, hey," Eames soothes. "None of that. No harm done. I'm all in one piece." 

He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze. 

"I only wanted to tell you that I telephoned my parents and I'm going home as soon as camp has ended."

"You're not going back to school?" Arthur gasps. 

She shakes her head. 

"Dom says it will hurt my chances for finding a job, but ... I need a rest. I can't just _woosh_ go back to normal."

"It's the right choice," Eames says, emphatically.

Arthur nods in agreement. She may be unhinged and have annoyingly stereotyped expectations of he and Eames, but she's obviously in serious trouble and he'd never let petty concerns trump sympathy for someone in need. He hopes he wouldn't anyway. 

"I won't go to the shack tonight," she says. "But I want to ask if you could please protect my privacy."

"Mal, there is no way I'm picking 'truth.' Don't worry."

She gives him a watery smile and a quick kiss on the cheek. 

"I cannot thank you enough." 

"Will you email and tell us how you're doing?" Eames asks.

"Do you want to hear from me?" she replies, voice small. 

"Of course," Arthur says, leaving aside the lurch that hearing Eames use the word "us" in the future tense is causing his insides to make.

Once they arrive at the shack everyone else is already there and waiting. There's a sense of bloodthirsty eagerness throughout the room. Arthur knows they're desperately hoping for 'truth' and that they'll probably make him suffer for choosing 'dare' against their wishes. 

Eames gives Arthur's hand one final squeeze. 

"So, which will it be!" Kelly shouts. 

"Dare," Arthur responds, trying to look firm. 

The sense of disappointment is _palpable_.

Arthur goes outside to wait for the rest of the counselors to discuss his fate. He can hear little tidbits of the argument, someone telling Eames he "gets no say in this," Ari giggling, Yusuf saying "oh come on," and Cobb gruffly telling everyone to hurry up and decide. 

When he's finally called back in, Arthur knows it's going to be bad by Eames' expression. Ari looks red-faced and like she's holding back laughter, but feeling a bit guilty about it. Robert is starring at his shoes, embarrassed. Yusuf raises one eyebrow at Arthur and shrugs.

"So ... ?" he asks. 

"You have to give someone a lap dance," Taryn squeaks out. 

" _What_?"

He shoots Eames a look designed to say, "this was with you _helping_?"

"It can be whomever you want," Ari adds, as if that makes it better. 

Arthur stands there dumbfounded for a second. He knows he has to do this, but god, it's going to be so embarrassing. He's not much of a dancer, really. More of a sway-er with occasional head nodding or foot tapping. 

"Can I at least have some drinks first?" he asks. 

"Yeah, but you gotta shotgun them," someone replies. 

Motherfucker. 

"Have you done it before? I can show you," offers Robert, of all people. Arthur figured prep school boys were too classy for binge drinking, but what does he know. Not much, apparently. 

Robert walks him through the process and they do the first one together. Then Arthur does two more in quick succession. He feels so _full_ , and kind of sloshy. But he's not drunk enough to dance, let alone dance sexily, dance sexily with another person in front of all his friends and coworkers. 

He's reaching for a fourth, when Eames speaks up: "Maybe not so many at once." 

Eames is cringing. Arthur can tell that he didn't want to say anything in front of the others, but that he's worried Arthur will make himself sick. 

"Just one more," Arthur says. "I need it to do this." 

Eames' mouth is a straight line. Arthur doesn't think he's mad, or at least not at him. Eames just obviously dislikes this whole situation. Not that Arthur can really blame him. He'd hate to watch Eames give some other person a sexy dance--and Eames would be really good at it too, which would make it that much worse. 

And there is no question that Arthur is going to dance for someone else besides Eames. Arthur's not about to let everyone else get all voyeuristic on the way they are together. It would feel like an invasion, letting everyone watch what should only occur as a private moment between the two of them, if at all. And Jesus God, if either one of them were start getting turned on by it, despite the circumstances, well that would just be too humiliating. 

He down the fourth beer and spins around, starting to feel slightly wobbly on his legs as the alcohol enters his system properly. 

"Music?" he asks. 

Yusuf goes over to the tiny shelf stereo in the corner where somebody's grungy old iPod is plugged into the speakers. 

"Requests?" he asks. 

"Dunno, just, whatever works. I don't know what the fuck I'm ... whatever's good." 

Arthur is drunk. Thank god. 

The strains of some cheesy 70s music starts pulsing out of the tinny speakers. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He can't believe he has to do this. He momentarily considers running out into the night. But that's the coward's way. He _has_ to do this, stupid as it is. 

He gives Eames a queasy smile and reaches his hand out to Ariadne, who bursts out laughing. 

"Who me?" 

"Why not?" he asks. 

She shrugs. 

"Sorry Robert," he says, eliciting laughter from the group, and leads Ari to a nearby chair. 

He sits Ari in a chair, pressing her shoulders down into it. Then he stands a couple of feet away, closes his eyes and sways to the music. 

"This doesn't count!" someone shouts. 

"Shut up, I'm listening to the music, asshole," he hisses in response, surly in his drunken, embarrassed state. 

Everyone titters. Arthur tries to shut them out. He listens to the beat and tries to think about Eames, not too much, just enough to consider how to move in a sexy way. Eames would know how to do this. Arthur is certain of it. 

He starts to move his hips a bit, eyes still closed, feeling the music course through his body. He's balancing his thoughts between imagining he's dancing with Eames and imagining that he's already gotten this stupid dare over with. 

He steps forward, really swiveling his hips now, opens his eyes and tilts his head to pout at Ari. She's giggling, so he winks. She shrieks. He dances closer, rolling his hips side to side a little as he goes. 

"Don't think about it, just get it over with," he chants in his head as he bends and puts his hands on the back of Ari's chair, leaning over her body. 

He closes his eyes again and tries to think of Eames. He imagines that Eames is looking at this ass right now, so he shakes it back and forth and does a tiny thrusting movement. He runs his hands down Ari's shoulders and arms, bending further over as he does so. Then he takes her hands and sort of swings them around in his as he keeps moving. 

He's sort of reached a stumbling block. Is he supposed to actually end up in her lap? He's not totally clear. He's never seen a stripper. And the ones in movies on television are always dancing on stages or poles, not climbing all over the guy. 

He takes a deep breath. And steps forward so he's straddling Ari's lap, then he takes her hands and puts them on his sides. If he were actually trying to be sexy for her, he'd put them on his ass. But that seems like a violation of their friendship and kind of gross, too. He kind of wiggles around, not wanting to actually press into her body, but wanting to give the impression that he's at least trying. 

The other counselors start cheering and howling. He looks down at Ari's face and it's bright red, but she's smiling, thank god. He's kind of danced himself into a corner here. Unsure of what else to do, he steps back, pushes her feet apart and straddles just one leg, dancing that way for a little before switching to the other. The room is loud as fuck at this point, but he's ignoring everything but the task at hand, waiting for the song to end. Fuck why won't it end? 

He closes his eyes again as he dances in the V of her legs, thinking about Eames watching him, about what he would do if he were dancing just for Eames? He knows the answer. Feeling spontaneous he drops to his knees, hearing gasps from the group. He presses his chest against her thigh and gives Ari a completely ridiculous saucy look. She bursts out laughing and he's shaking trying to hold his own in, unable to maintain eye contact. 

Thank god the song ends before he loses it completely. 

He jumps up off the floor, flooded with relief that it's all over, sort of embarrassed to turn around and look at everyone and sort of not giving a fuck at this point. 

Ari high fives him and asks if anyone got pictures. "I'm so showing those to my classmates when I get home," she whispers to Arthur. 

He rolls his eyes. 

"You sure you're not straight, mate?" Yusuf asks, chuckling. 

"Seriously, that was kind of sexy," Taryn adds, looking at Arthur like she's reevaluating him. 

"Give me a break," he responds. "I was just trying to get through it. Which one of you bastards suggested this?" 

Everyone's quiet. Robert hands him a beer. Arthur doesn't really want it, but he feels like he should at least have a few sips in gratitude. 

He peeks over at Eames, who is doing that thing where he masks his expressions and is impossible to read. Arthur desperately hopes Eames isn't angry or ashamed of him. He offers a tiny, questioning smile and Eames winks, so he knows it's OK. 

The room starts to settle into routine, people starting up card games, or sitting down to conversations. Arthur wants to leave, but he doesn't want to offend anyone by going so soon. 

He turns to Ari. 

"Do you think it's OK if I go?" he whispers. 

"Sure," she shrugs. "But first, I brought you a present."

It's an obscene number of Lifesavers, some kind of Christmas pack. He know it's because they'd once argued over the best flavors. 

"Now we can have a taste test!" she says, hugging him. "Happy birthday, Arthur."

Yusuf and Taryn hug him and Robert squeezes his arm. Then Arthur turns to Eames and tips his head toward the door. 

He's exhausted from the charade of pretending not to be embarrassed and eager to just get somewhere and feel comfortable in his own skin again. 

But Eames has other plans. 

As soon as they're out of view of the shack, he turns and pushes Arthur back against a tree trunk, kissing him ferociously. Arthur just melts into it, snapping back into their private reality. 

"Oh my god, Arthur, you are the sexiest creature to walk this earth," Eames mumbles against his neck and then drops down to his knees, pulling Arthur's shorts down with him. 

Arthur is aware from movies that this is a thing people do, even if he and Eames have always been lying down when they've exchanged blowjobs. He always thought the point of it was making the most of cramped quarters, or maybe rushing to get done. 

But now he understands that the point is you can fucking _watch_ what's going on. Even in the dark he can see Eames' mouth stretched obscenely around his dick, spit gleaming on his lips. Eames looks up through his eyelashes and his gaze is _smouldering_. Arthur's legs nearly give out. 

Eames starts toying with Arthru a bit, pulling off and licking, then running his mouth up and down the sides of Arthur's dick like a harmonica. And he keeps watching Arthur's reactions the whole time, too. It's like a current of electricity is running between them. Eames can see how much Arthur loves this and Arthur can see how much that turns Eames on. Arthur doesn't break eye contact until he comes and his eyes roll toward the sky of their own accord.


	18. Third Session: Can't Put It Off Any Longer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has been avoiding talking about what happens after camp ends. But he can't put it off forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: This chapter introduces the elephant in the room of camp ending. It contains angst. 
> 
> There will be one more chapter that takes place at camp. I've decided to start a fresh post for the next part of the story, which takes place after camp is over. It just seemed weird to me to continue titling it with Camp Evergreen when it will no longer be set there. 
> 
> I promise, I solemnly swear, that any unresolved angst from the summer's end will be completely and utterly resolved before the end of the three-part epilogue I have outlined. Do not fret! I believe in happy endings.

Oh fuck. It's finally happening. Arthur knows he couldn't have kept putting it off forever, but he still isn't ready. 

He and Eames are sitting cross-legged on top of a table in the art hut. Eames is tracing patterns on Arthur's left knee as he worries his bottom lip. Arthur is wincing. 

"I don't want to talk about it," he says, aware that he sounds like a petulant child. 

"That much is painfully obvious, Arthur, but we've got to discuss it at some point. Camp is going to end you know, whether you want to accept it or not," Eames replies. 

His voice sounds scratchy and hesitant. Arthur hasn't heard it like that since that night when everything started between them, when he made Eames talk about his past. It's obvious that Eames is scared, but Arthur isn't really sure what's causing his fear. Maybe he wants to tell Arthur that they should try to stay together after the end of the final session in just 10 days. Maybe he wants to break up with Arthur. Maybe he wants to have an open relationship. Arthur doesn't want him to say any of those things. 

He'd confided his fears to Ari a few days earlier, standing on the side of the lake while Yusuf administered swim tests. 

"I just ... I don't want to talk about it. Ever. I just want to keep going like we are until camp ends and then just ... walk away, no promises." 

Ari had looked at him, dumbfounded. 

"You're a sociopath," she said. 

"I'm not. I just ... I know how this goes. I don't want to get hurt. He can't break any promises if he doesn't get a chance to make them." 

She frowned at him. 

"You're being a fucking pussy, Arthur."

"Maybe but better a ... " he couldn't say it, especially not in front of Ari "... wimp than a loser, left behind." 

She gave him a hard stare. 

"Look, aren't you worried about what will happen when Robert gets back to school? Back to his fancy life?"

"No," she shrugged. "I doubt we'll make it to Thanksgiving, honestly, but at least I'm not too scared to try." 

"So I'm supposed to be, what, heartened by you saying that you know you're going to break up? How is that supposed to help?"

"Look, Arthur, I like Robert, I really do. He's really hot; he's super sweet; he doesn't ever make me feel weird. But I'm not stupid enough to think that we're, like, in love."

Arthur's head had felt light at the mention of the L-word. That was not a word he wanted to think, hear, say or even acknowledge exists. He was certainly not going to respond to whatever it is Ari was implying. 

She continued, rolling her eyes at his stubborn silence. 

"We had a great summer. I get to go back to school and have stories that don't make me seem like an untouchable weirdo. He gets to go back to school and have stories about dating one of the proletariat or whatever. We'll still be friends. No hard feelings. ... You and Eames are ... different." 

"Probably not that different."

"Oh come on, I'm not blind, Arthur. I see how you two are together. It's not the same."

Arthur sighed heavily. That was not what he wanted to hear. 

"OK in some ways, yeah, maybe. I mean, besides in the obvious one," he said. "But the thing is ... everything else is so tied up in that one difference. I mean it didn't have to be that way. It's just ... I needed to talk it out, and we told each other everything. No secrets. And now ... he's like my closest friend, well him and you, and I just want, I can't lose that friendship, no matter about anything else. It's too important now." 

This last bit was whispered. He'd hardly had the strength to admit it to himself, let alone out loud. 

"Well you have to tell him that, at least. You can't just ... walk away. You said no secrets. Now you're trying to make one." 

Arthur knows she was right. He knew it then, and he knows it now. But it's so fucking hard, the hardest thing he's ever had to say. 

"I think ... " his voice catches. "I think we should break up when camp ends." 

Eames' eyes widen. He looks as dumbstruck as if Arthur had reached out and slapped him across the face out of the blue. OK so clearly he hadn't been planning on dropping the breakup hammer himself, or he'd probably be relieved now. 

He jumps down off the table and walks a few paces away, posture closed off and defensive. Arthur can't bring himself to say another word, he just looks down at his sneakers and waits, telling himself that it was the right call to make. It's a sign of trust that after a few silent minutes, Eames walks back to the table, leans against it and says, "can you please explain yourself? I think you owe me that at least." His voice is pained, cracking, not even trying to hold back.

Arthur reaches out to stroke Eames' hand, but Eames flinches. Arthur closes his eyes, reminds himself that this is for the best, and starts talking. 

"Eames, this is probably pathetic, but you are my best friend in the whole world right now. I want you in my life. I don't want to lose that. Pretty much no one else understands me like you do right now." 

Eames is frowning. 

"I know how it goes ... when people go away to college. I'm not going to let that happen to me. My sister taught me about it back when I was too young to care, but now I see it every Fall. She called it the Homecoming Heartbreak. All these couples go off to their separate schools thinking they'll never feel ... they'll never want anything but what they have. But they get a taste of college life and they do. And then they cheat. Or, if they're lucky, they just emotionally betray each other, avoiding phone calls, making excuses. Every damn October, there's always some idiot high school kid getting his or her heart broken by someone coming home for their first Fall break. I can't ... I won't let that happen. If it ends between us when camp is over then that will never have to happen." 

Eames' face is unreadable. 

"I wouldn't do that," Eames' voice is grim. "Arthur you know me. You know everything about me. You _made_ me tell you _everything_. How can you not understand that that's not me?"

"But that's the whole point. Nobody ever thinks that it's going to happen to them. They let themselves get stupid and deluded. I'm trying to save us from that, don't you get it?"

"No, you don't get it!" Eames is clearly angry now. "You don't get to tell me that you know me better than I know myself. You don't get to tell me that I'm going to be some arsehole cheater. That I'm going to turn around and ... " he trails off, mouth a thin line, lips white. 

"I just don't want to put you in a position where you'll ever have to choose between me and someone else. So we can be friends. If you meet someone else, it won't matter. You can even call me up and tell me about him, if you want. I'll be cool about it, I promise," Arthur tries to sound more confident about that last bit than he feels, because, honestly, the very thought makes him want to vomit. 

Eames holds up his hand. 

"I can't discuss this any more right now. Please ... please just go." 

The words are like a dagger in Arthur's chest. They've never not been able to talk a problem through before. For the first time, he wonders if he's made the wrong call, if he's fucked up. He walks out the door without looking back, resolve crumpling. 

Hot tears are welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill down his face. Are they broken up? Was that it? Will he never see Eames smile at him again? Never feel the touch of his hands? Never kiss him again? Oh god, it's intolerable. What has he done? If he weren't afraid of making it worse, he would burst straight back through the door and take it all back. 

He sees a few counselors walking back from the shack, laughing drunkenly. Halfway across the field he notices figures sitting on the porch of his own cabin, holding hands. Yusuf and Taryn, dammit! He can't walk up there and talk to them like this, he can't let them see him almost crying. Without really thinking it through, he jogs off in the direction of the lake. 

He's too restless to stand still and doesn't know where else to go, so he starts running the route that he usually does in the morning, twice around the water. Thank god he hadn't changed his shoes after dinner. 

Running usually clears his head, but tonight he can't do anything but replay the conversation over and over, wondering what he could have said differently to make it sound less like an accusation and more like a gift. 

Maybe it's just an unavoidable hazard of their different situations at the start of the summer. Eames had hoped to find a boyfriend, so he's upset that he can't, or shouldn't, try to keep the one he got. Arthur had merely hoped to steal a kiss and discovered so much more, so he can walk away, not happy exactly, but focusing on how much richer his life is these days. 

Does this mean he's being selfish? Putting his own happiness over Eames'? Or does it mean he's being logical, whereas Eames is being stupid and romantic? 

He just doesn't know. 

It's closer to 3:00 a.m. than 2:00 a.m. when Arthur finishes his second loop and collapses into his cot as quietly as he can manage. He's going to be suffering for the late hour come morning, but he doesn't see any reason why his body shouldn't be as miserable as his mind will be. 

Eames is scowling at breakfast. Arthur misses the winks and smiles Eames usually shoots at him across the crowded Mess. He hates sitting on the hard benches, exhausted, wrung out and impatient to find out what is going on in his relationship. He doesn't know when Eames will be ready to talk again--although, if nothing else, a few hours of sleep did give him confidence that they would discuss this at some point. But every moment between now and then is going to be torture. 

The morning's activities unwind at a snail's pace. He's exhausted and on edge, unable to relax until he knows what Eames is going to say. His only solace is that DFC doesn't have art or soccer today and he won't have to watch Eames studiously ignore him for an hour. 

At lunch, he pulls Ari aside and tells her he's going to bail on their usual afternoon activities.

"Need to double up your makeout sessions?" she asks, grinning saucily. 

Arthur looks down at the ground, worn from so many feet trampling in and out of the mess three times a day. 

"No," he replies. "We got in a fight. I just want to be available if he wants to talk about it."

Ari looks grim. 

"I'm taking it that you finally had 'the talk' then?"

He nods. 

"It went about as well as you predicted. I'm an asshole, even if I'm not trying to be one." 

"Do you want me to ... talk to him for you? Try to get him to ... I don't know, forgive you? Try again? Something?"

He offers a watery smile. 

"No, not yet. Maybe if he drags this out for more than I day. I don't think I could take it if he did that. But for now I just want to wait until he's ready. I'm pretty sure he won't just ignore me for the rest of the summer." 

She surges forward and throws her arms around him in a surprisingly tight hug. It kind of breaks something in him and not just because he can feel the gaze of the campers through the Mess Hall's windows, wondering what's wrong with him and probably whether he and Ari are a couple and possibly whether this is going to lead to some sort of fisticuffs with Robert. He can practically feel them holding their collective breath waiting for some excitement. 

Arthur gently disentangles himself, whispers "thanks," and strolls off to the lake, appetite destroyed. He sits there starring at the water, the exact damn view as the drawing Eames made for him, only high Noon instead of sunset, and waits for the campers to emerge for afternoon activities. He can't quite tell if he's pouting like a brat, or just hiding from the source of his angst, or what. He's all out of sorts. 

When quiet rest rolls around, Arthur stands conspicuously around in front of the mess hall, so he's easy to spot if Eames is ready to talk. But he never even sees Eames. Arthur has no idea whether or not Eames missed the opportunity or declined to take it. 

He's frustrated both with himself and with Eames. He doesn't want to go find Ari and be subjected to weird looks and unasked questions from everyone he passes. So he does something a little bold and perhaps a lot crazy and ducks into the hall and through the kitchen's swinging doors. 

Doug looks up, surprised. He and Arthur have chatted occasionally since their morning they went to town, but for Arthur to spend any significant amount of free free time not playing tennis with Robert or cloistered with Eames was unheard of until today. 

"What's up?" Doug asks. 

Arthur levers himself up on one of the unused counters and decides not to beat around the bush. 

"Are you and Carl long distance during the school year?"

Doug sighs and says, "oh boy, we've reached that point of the summer have we?" 

Arthur just shrugs. 

"Give me one sec to get this in the oven and then we can talk about it. Although, am I really the one you want to be discussing this with right now? 

"Oh we talked about it with each other last night. Got in a huge fight; he kicked me out of the art hut. It was ... well I just don't even know if I'm being unreasonable or he is or what. So .... " Arthur gestures to indicate that this impasse is why he's arrived in the Doug's kitchen. 

"Fuck that sucks. You guys are really cute together. What happened?"

"You first." 

"Yeah, we live in different place, but we're committed. But I'm only down in Durham and I have a car. It's not such a far trip. The real difficulty is coming up here without my parents knowing I'm in town, or visiting them without arousing suspicion about why I come home so often. I'm pretty sure my dad thinks I don't have any friends at school." 

"Does he come see you?"

"Sure, but it's harder. Weekends are the only time the diner makes money during the cold months and he can't really ask for too many of them off. He comes down during the week sometimes, but then I'm studying and in class and busy." 

"But it's still worth it?"

"Yeah. I mean, I wouldn't trade it for anything," he pauses and fidgets. "Listen Arthur, I know that you ... I'm pretty sure that you know about ... the beginning of the summer the stupid thing I did."

Arthur nods. 

"I mean, that's why you're asking, right?"

"I don't know, not really. Maybe? You just seemed like the best person to talk to about it, besides, you know, Eames." 

"Well I want you to know that I've never done anything like that before. Carl and I are not even remotely open. I'm not going to say it's not hard sometimes. But it's worth it. I was so angry with myself. You don't even know. Well maybe you do. ... I just. At school, I don't get crazy drunk like that on the weekends, because either Carl and I are together and have better ways to use our time or I'm rushing home from a party at Midnight so we can have a phone date. I just, I don't even know, lost control. I think I thought Ea ... I thought he _was_ Carl. Which is ... I don't even know, 10 kinds of fucked up. ... I'm sorry, is this making you uncomfortable?"

Arthur half-shrugs with one shoulder raised and wrinkles up his forehead. 

"I hadn't even _met_ Eames yet at that point. And, anyway, considering our fight it really, really wouldn't be fair for me to get upset." 

Doug pauses, considering. 

"Well emotions are hardly ever concerned with fair, are they?"

He continues. 

"Anyway, what I'm saying is, if you're going to do it, you've got to set rules for yourself. A lot of rules. Not just ... no kissing anyone else no fucking ... " Doug stops, obviously realizing that that might not be appropriate in this context and Arthur feels his face heat. "Sorry. I mean, you know, no cheating. You also have to avoid situations where temptation might occur. No excessive drinking, no playing games that might result in kissing or nudity. And holding yourself at a distance from people you find attractive. I mean you don't have to be an ashole. But don't let yourself indulge in innocent flirting or, so-called, harmless crushes. There's also the fact that you're not around as much, because you're spending every available moment visiting this other person, so your friendships suffer. But I think it's worth it."

Arthur sits there considering all of this, legs swinging off the edge of the counter. 

"So, I've gotta ask. What's the fight here? I mean I don't know either of super well, but you seem good together and ... I guess I really don't see what the problem is. Neither of you seems like the sort of guy that's itching to go off and sew his wild oats. ... Or am I presuming too much?"

Arthur considers how to talk about this without revealing any of the deeply personal stuff he knows about Eames' past. 

"It's like ... when you go off to college, you're supposed to have this magical time of being carefree and exploring and ... all that stuff you said, it sounds really restrictive. I mean not for me. I'm going back to high school at the end of this. But ... all that stuff you said about what you have to avoid and what you shouldn't do, I can't ask Eames to do all that, not right in his first semester when everyone's going to be having fun and getting to know each other and he'd come off as some uptight, boring guy, which we all know is the antithesis of Eames."

He's eliding over the part about not wanting to hurt their close friendship, because he's afraid to discuss it without accidentally saying too much. And anyway, Doug's stories have raised a lot of new concerns in his mind. 

"I don't want him to resent me or, on the other hand, for us to stop talking about what's going our lives with each other, because he doesn't want me to feel left out."

"The old 'if you love something, set it free' deal, huh?" Doug asks. 

Arthur looks studiously at the floor. He refuses to even consider that whatever he has with Eames might be love. It's just too much to bear on top of everything else. 

"Look, I just mean, what happened with you and ... what happened at the beginning of the summer was a big deal for you and Carl, right? I mean it seems like it was. And you've been together for longer than two months. How could we possibly survive it and stay friends?"

Doug considers this. 

"It was a big deal. I was really scared he was going to break up with me, or at least try to get even. Some of my friends think we're insane for letting a kiss or two throw everything into jeopardy. But we don't get much time together and we spend so much apart. Everything carries so much ... weight, I guess. We've been together for two and a half years, by the way. So, yeah, kind of a long time." 

They're silent for a while, and then Doug asks: "What about the whole, open relationship thing? Too terrifying? Believe me, I'm not going to judge you if you say yes. I could never do it." He shakes his shoulders, as if he needs to remove the offending idea from his vicinity.

"I don't know. I mean it's not something I'd, like, want _want_ , for myself, but I might be willing to try it if I were heading off too college, too. But I'm going back to my tiny hometown where nobody knows, not a single person, and I'd probably have to fight off getting my ass kicked once a week if they did. There really wouldn't be much of a point."

"Well I guess you have to either trust Eames if he says he wants to do long distance, or decide that you don't and stick to it. He's a good guy. I'm sure you know that better than me. But ... things _do_ happen. I obviously can't deny it."

Arthur's watch beeps to note the end of quiet rest. (After missing the flagpole meetup that time with Eames, he'd promised Yusuf to set an alarm.) 

"Fuck, gotta go meet the kids," Arthur says as he hops down. "Thanks a lot for this. I mean it." 

"No problem. It was good. We should, you know, stay in touch. Let me know how it goes." 

"Yeah OK," Arthur replies, grinning for the first time all day. He feels like he's made another real friend. 

He's in a slightly better mood during dinner and the evening's campfire activities. Not good enough to show up at the shack by himself, but perhaps good enough to read for a little bit and then fall asleep early. 

But just when he's least expecting it, Eames taps him ever-so-gently on the forearm. He looks worn down and withdrawn. This is an Eames Arthur has never seen. He doesn't really ever want to see him like this again. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Eames asks, voice quiet. 

Arthur nods. He laces their fingers together and heads for the Art Hut. It would be too painful to discuss this anywhere else, as if they were downgrading their relationship with their choice of location. Once inside they just stare hesitantly at each other for a handful of moments. Finally Arthur breaks the silence. 

"I can't believe how much I missed you today."

But that just makes Eames frown. 

"Then I don't know why you want to split up," he says. 

Arthur's mouth opens to speak, but no sound comes out. He feels like a goldfish. He's trying to verbalize the rush of feelings flooding his mind, but he just can't quite string them together into actual words. 

"Is it ..." Eames' voice is small, barely audible and he's looking at the floor. "Is it because you want to be free to find someone else?"

Arthur laughs. 

He immediately knows it was the wrong reaction when he sees Eames' stricken face. But the very idea is just so ridiculous that he can't do anything but collapse into nervous giggles. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's just ... if you knew what my life was like at home, what the town where I come from is like, you'd know that even if that were what I wanted--which I _don't_ \--it would be more-or-less impossible. I mean I can't even begin to explain to you how absurd that idea is." 

Eames shrugs. 

"There are always opportunities. Even when I was at school ... not _good_ ones, per se, but ... you could ... "

"Eames, I don't want to break up because of the off chance that some asshole at my school is going through a curious phase."

"Then why?" Eames sags forward, so his forehead is resting against Arthur's shoulder. Knowing that he doesn't hate Arthur, that as angry as Eames might have been last night, he still isn't afraid to show his hand, feels almost better than Arthur could have imagined, considering that they're not kissing and nothing is fixed. 

He thinks about his conversation with Doug and how to phrase everything so as to not start another fight. While he's contemplating all this, he lets his arms slip around Eames' waist. 

Finally, he says: "I know that you wouldn't intentionally hurt me, Eames. I don't think you're a cheater or an asshole or even much of a liar, beyond maybe a few white ones ..." 

Eames huffs a laugh into Arthur's neck at this. 

" ... but I do want to feel like we are ... doing this in a way that makes sense."

Eames pulls back, but not roughly. He's smiling ever so slightly.

"You are too logical for your own good." 

"Look, Eames, you only get one shot at going off to college, one chance at Freshman year. It's supposed to be a time for fun and carefree exploration and ... not for pining for your boyfriend who is stuck in small-town Pennsylvania and all the angst that that entails. I don't want to think about you missing out on getting to know people or having fun because you're waiting for me to get back from an away tennis meet or for my parents to fall asleep so I can call you or ... I don't know ... I hate to think that you'd miss out on anything fun or cool because of an obligation to a relationship that can't, literally cannot, go anywhere for _months_ once school starts. At best. I can't guarantee that I'd ever be able to able to visit you. Maybe if I get an interview at Northwestern or for spring break, if my parents let me, which is kind of a long shot. And you can't come stay with me without it being incredibly awkward and ... I live with my _parents_ Eames." 

Arthur's aware that he's babbling. But Eames looks genuinely attentive and not angry or sad, so he plows ahead. 

"I really like what we have. I really, _really_ like it. What I was saying yesterday about you being my best friend was not let-you-down-easy bullshit, although I know it might have sounded that way. And I'm sorry for that. If I could have my way, I'd be off to Northwestern in September and we'd just keep going like we are, or as best as we could. I don't fucking want another boyfriend. I want you. ... But, like you said, I'm logical. And it just doesn't make sense. I feel like it will only hurt whatever this is in the long run. I really do." 

He pauses, looking searchingly at Eames, hoping this won't lead to another fight. But Eames has a thoughtful expression on his face. 

"Do you think that, perhaps, you might also want the freedom to appreciate your final year of school in the way that you think I need the freedom to appreciate my first year of university?"

Arthur worries his bottom lip and thinks this over. 

"Well I don't really have a reputation for being a fun-time party guy at home, believe it or not. So I don't feel like I'm going to miss out on any senioritis moments, if you know what that means."

"I can deduce." 

"But I'm willing to admit that perhaps I'm a little worried about trying to juggle a long-distance boyfriend with my final tennis season, if I haven't already completely fucked it up by coming to camp in the first place." 

"So ... accepting that we both have important things in store for us this Autumn, what do you suggest we do?" 

"I don't know. ... But I want to figure out something together, something that won't make me feel like you hate me or like I'm doing wrong by you. That is the last thing in the world that I want." 

He moves one hand from Eames' waist to stroke the curl of his ear, if if tucking an imaginary hair behind it. Arthur really wants to lean forward and kiss him, but somehow he's afraid to. He's not sure he has the right for such easygoing intimacy anymore, after last night. He feels like he has to start from square one again. 

So he slides down the wall to sit on the floor, grabbing Eames' hands and tugging him down, too. They sit silently side by side, holding hands for a few minutes. 

"I feel like I fucked this up," Eames says. 

"You? I'm the asshole here," Arthur responds.

"I just didn't think we were as fragile as all that. But now everything feels _weird_ and makes me think that maybe you're right. It puts me out of sorts."

"Look, whatever else, I know how I felt last night and all day today. It was agony. The idea of you hating me."

"I could never hate you," Eames says. He opens his mouth as if to say more, but nothing comes out. 

"That was my whole ... I didn't want to ever ... nevermind, it's stupid," Arthur says, deciding not to attempt to explain his actions the night before any further. 

"You know the funny thing is that all day I kept wishing I could talk to you about my fight with you. Does that make any sense at all? I just wanted someone to mull it all over with and you were the first person to come to mind. So stupid."

Arthur's heart kind of melts at that. 

"I uh ... I actually went and talked to Doug."

Eames looks surprised. 

"About ... you know being in a long-distance relationship. What it's like."

"You never cease to amaze me, Arthur. What did he say?"

"That it's really hard. But that it's worth it. But that part of the 'worth it' is because he's only a few hours away and they've been together a long time now. Basically, nothing good." 

Eames squeezes Arthur's hand. 

"We'll figure it out, yeah," he says. 

They fall asleep leaning against the wall, hand in hand, Eames' head on Arthur's shoulder, Arthur's cheek on Eames' silky hair. He starts awake when his watch beeps the alarm for his early morning run. 

"Oh fuck! Eames, Eames wake up." 

Eames opens his eyes. He looks utterly confused.

"Arthur? What? ... Oh bugger ..." 

Arthur chuckles. 

"I don't know how the fuck we slept all night like this. I must have been even more tired than I thought." 

"I didn't sleep at all night before last," Eames confesses. 

"Do you want to go sneak into your cabin?"

"No I think that will only make it worse at this point. You going for your run?"

"I think I might puke if I tried. Let's go sneak into the Mess, find some coffee." 

"You are such a rule breaker, darling."

"If anyone from home heard you say that, they would laugh." 

"Well there's a lot they don't know about you, obviously." 

Arthur is beyond relieved that the night seems to have returned them to the flirty banter stage and erased the previous sense of sadness resignation in their conversation. 

They sprint up the hill, not wanting to catch the attention of anyone who happens to be awake at this hour. As soon as they're safely inside the Mess they collapse into laughter, simultaneously struck by the hilarity of the situation. Even as they comb through the cupboards looking for Doug's stash of horrible instant coffee, they keep breaking into giggles. The exhaustion probably isn't helping, but it's mostly the relief to be working together as a team again. 

"Hello what's this then?" Eames asks, pulling a funny contraption out of a bottom cupboard. 

"Seriously, what is that?" Arthur asks, mystified. 

"It's an Aeropress. Cookie has been holding out on us. ... And some proper coffee, too." 

Eames bustles around, getting things set up. Arthur wonders how he seems to know so much about what to do in a kitchen when he's apparently spent most of his life in boarding school and probably also had servants or something at home, since he'd mentioned the family's gardener.

Just a few minutes later, Eames is pressing a cup into his hand. 

"Milk and sugar, yes?" he asks. 

Arthur nods, smiling. 

"I don't think I've had coffee since we went to town. Good memory." 

Eames smirks. 

"That's my job." 

He leans forward and brushes a kiss to Arthur's lips. It feels like an off-hand gesture, just sweet and affectionate. But suddenly Arthur is very aware that it's been more than 24 hours since they've done that and he's overwhelmed with a desire for more. Eames must feel the same way, because he takes the cup back and places it on a the far counter and then wraps his arms around Arthur, kissing him with hunger. 

Before Arthur knows it, Eames is up on the ledge with his legs wrapped around Arthur's waist and his hands roaming everywhere. 

"Fuck Arthur, I don't know how I can go without this ... without you," Eames groans. 

Arthur pulls away, "don't think about it now," he whispers and reaches up to lick the spot on Eames' ear that's guaranteed to drive him wild.

He's progressed to Eames' neck, groping his ass with both hands, when the sound of a throat clearing startles them apart. 

"I'm glad you boys have made up," Doug says. "But this is verging on unsanitary." 

Arthur is mortified. But Eames just hops down, adjusts himself while his back is still turned and launches right into an accusation about Doug's secret coffee stash.


	19. Third Session: The Last Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally happening. Camp is ending. Can Arthur and Eames cope with the summer drawing to a close?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry. All angst will be solved in the sequel. And in only three chapters, too. I promise.

The final week of camp flies by so quickly that Arthur could swear he's in some sort of time warp. 

The hardest part is forcing himself not to spend every second of free time cloistered away with Eames in the Art Hut. For one, he's playing tennis with Robert every afternoon. He's not sure if he's getting any better, but at least he's not getting worse. But even beyond that, he knows that if he doesn't do it now, he'll regret not spending time with Ari and Yusuf. 

And, anyway, it's intense with Eames. They'd probably make themselves insane if they didn't take a break from being alone together sometimes. They spend every night hashing out the options for what to do when they leave camp, arguing back and forth until it gets heated, and then they reach for each other and work out all the tension. 

In these moments Arthur is desperate, cognizant that each opportunity to kiss and touch is that much closer to his last one. At some point when he he can't stand thinking about camp ending for one second longer, he usually pounces on Eames, hungry and eager to let the heat between them override the fear in his head. 

But when Eames initiates, he's almost embarrassingly tender. He slows things down until it's agonizing, just peppering Arthur with light kisses and nuzzling him, taking forever to do to anything that actually gets either them off. Not that Arthur would ever complain. It feels so good to be special like that to someone. 

Of course, it only makes his insistence that they take a break over the Fall seem all the more insane. But Arthur knows, deep in his logic-loving heart, he knows it's the right decision, even if it hurts like hell. He knows that as much as he wants to be Eames' boyfriend forever, he'll be happier come September if he isn't worrying about it every second. And he would. 

He hopes Eames will be happier, too. Arthur knows Eames thinks deep down that this is a terrible idea. But he's willing to give it a shot anyway. Nevertheless, Arthur feels pretty sure that Eames will be glad of his freedom once school starts. Not that Arthur likes thinking about Eames being with other guys. God, it's horrifying. But he hates the idea of Eames feeling obligated to him even more. And if they do get back together at some later point, Arthur will never, ever ask what Eames did while they were apart. 

The set of rules they've negotiated say that email is totally OK any time, although they should try not to get in the habit of expecting any certain schedule for it. Phone calls and IMing are out, except in the case of emergencies and Eames' birthday in November. When Arthur goes to Chicago for a college visit toward the end of the year, he and Eames can catch up and decide what, if anything, they want to change from then on out. 

Eames teases Arthur for all the specificity in his rules, but Arthur needs to have everything delineated. It's what lets him sleep at night. 

At the end of every session, they have a goodbye ceremony where the campers hold hands in two concentric circles and sing the camp song then light candles and make wishes for a good school year. Usually, it's a sign of an annoying evening ahead with all junior counselor's hands needed on deck to prevent campers from sneaking out of their cabins and getting up to trouble. But this time Arthur finds himself with a lump in his throat as he listens to their singing.Ari nearly bowls him over when she wraps her arms around his shoulders and sobs into his neck. Arthur pats her hair cautiously. 

He's both jealous and terrified of her ability to express her emotions so openly. Maybe that would solve all his problems with Eames, being less reserved and more in demonstrative. If he could even admit to himself all the different feelings he has about their situation, then perhaps he could talk about them and end the summer with no fear. But that's just not who Arthur is, and anyway he's already come much further this summer than he'd ever thought possible. 

As predicted, everything is crazy that night, with campers running around everywhere and the full junior staff on hand to keep anyone from drowning or discovering sex or eating bark or whatever it is their parents might sue the camp for letting them do. Arthur personally marches two campers back to their bunk three separate times after they keep sneaking out and trying to steal one of the canoes. He suspects they're trying to meet two of the girls out somewhere around the lake, but can't get anything out of them about it. 

Around Midnight Eames finds Arthur on his way up from the counselor's shack where the senior staff have been doing God knows what to say goodbye to their summers. He's stumbling slightly, probably drunk, and he wraps his arms around Arthur and nuzzles against his ear. 

"I miss you already, darling," he whispers. 

Arthur pushes him back against a nearby tree, both eager to make up for the lost evening and anxious to stop Eames from saying anything he can't take back. 

"We'll have all day together tomorrow," he says and leans in to press their lips together. 

They kiss against the tree for a few minutes, Arthur ignoring everything but the feel of Eames against him. But when he pulls back he sees one of the boys from the Cyprus cabin standing about 20 feet away in the clearing, staring at them, open mouthed. Arthur winces.

"Fucking Goddammit to hell," he thinks. "Made it the whole summer without getting caught, only to be seen by a camper on the last fucking night!" 

Eames catches Arthur's eye, face panicky with the realization of what's happened. Arthur takes a deep breath and says, "I'll handle it. Go to bed. I'll see you first thing, OK?"

"Do you want me to help?" Eames asks, sounding braver than he looks. 

"No, you've clearly been drinking. It's best if he doesn't know that, just in case." 

Arthur gives Eames' shoulder a squeeze and walks over toward the kid--Caleb, is that his name?--while trying to project more confidence than he feels. He makes his sternest counselor face and raises one eyebrow to silently ask the kid whether or not he's going to give Arthur any shit. But inside his heart is racing a mile a minute. 

"What are you doing out of your bunk?"

The kid is starring at the ground, but Arthur can't tell whether he's abashed about being caught out of bed or scared of what he saw Arthur and Eames doing. 

"I just wanted to take a look around before we have to go tomorrow," he mumbles. 

Arthur gently takes hold of Caleb's elbow and steers him cabin-ward. 

"Sorry buddy. I don't want to leave, either, but them's the rules." 

They trudge in silence up to the boy's cabins. Arthur is hoping to God that Caleb doesn't cause trouble by saying anything to his parents. He knows that there's absolutely nothing wrong with being a gay camp counselor. But he also knows that the utterly last two things on earth he'd want would be to bring trouble on Saito's head or, God forbid, to have to come out to his parents before he's ready because of some kind of scandal. 

When they get to the porch steps, Caleb turns and looks up at Arthur, eyes wide. 

"Arthur?" he asks, and trails off. 

Oh fuck. It's clear that Arthur's not going to be able to avoid this conversation. Nor should he, honestly, not when the kid looks like he might asking for personal reasons, not mean-spirited ones. Arthur feels way too young and inexperienced to be dealing with this. But what choice does he have?

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

Caleb bites his lip, but doesn't speak. The wait feels interminable, although it probably isn't more than two minutes. 

Finally he speaks up: "I found a bunch of drawings under my brother's bed of his friend Eric and ... and he's _naked_ in them. And I didn't know what to do. I was scared he knew I saw them, because I didn't put them back in the same order. But he didn't say anything to me about it. Should I tell my mom?"

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, wishing that this weren't happening. 

Deep breath. 

OK first things first. 

"Is your brother's friend the same age as him? I mean, he's not like a grownup is he?"

"No. They go to school together. They're in 11th grade. Well they will be. They've been best friends since Kindergarten." 

Arthur feels a pang of jealousy, which is ridiculous. But he can't help wishing that he had grown up with a best friend like that, one who could have smoothly transitioned to being his boyfriend, or even just who could understand what he's going through these days. Not that he'd trade this summer with Eames for anything. But he has a feeling he's going to be awfully lonely once he's back to the routine of school and tennis and newspaper meetings. He hadn't felt particularly close to anyone at home before camp, but now that he knows what it's like to have real, trusted friends, what was once normal classmate camaraderie is going to feel really empty, he's sure.

"I think your brother would probably prefer if you didn't tell her. Maybe he's still figuring stuff out. Or, if not, he probably wants to tell her on his own time." 

"I haven't told anybody. But I'm scared he'll get in trouble." 

Arthur considers this. It could mean a lot of different things. 

"What kind of trouble do you think he'll get in?" he asks, sitting down on the cabin's front steps, figuring this could take a while. 

"I'm afraid Eric will find them and be mad and not be Danny's friend anymore." 

That's a surprise. 

"You don't think Eric knows about the drawings?"

"He has a girlfriend. She's a _cheerleader_."

"Well sometimes ... people ... _pretend_ to like girls," fuck he is flailing all over this answer. Why is this so complicated? "I mean ... it seems unlikely he would draw the pictures if Eric hadn't posed for them. Right? Maybe?"

"Like how Ari is your pretend girlfriend?"

"She's not my pretend girlfriend. She's my best friend. And she's Robert's actual girlfriend."

"Everyone thinks you're together."

Ari and Robert had toned the PDA way down in the last session after Cobb chastised them. Ari had actually cried after meeting with him, she was so embarrassed. Unfortunately, this had led people to think that she and Arthur were together ever since they'd shared that hug outside the Mess Hall that everyone witnessed. 

"Well we're not. I promise."

"Is Eames your ... are you together like that?"

Arthur pauses. He doesn't want to lie, especially if the truth can help Caleb understand his brother in some way. But he also knows that if Caleb having caught them causes problems down the road, it might be easier if he denies their involvement now. 

"Sort of," he says. "I mean we're together right now, but won't be after we go home."

"Do your parents know?"

"No. Nobody does except here." 

"Do you think my mom already knows? ... About Danny, I mean?"

"I honestly don't know, Caleb. Is this ... is this something that's going to really bother you if you don't know the answers?"

"My therapist says I have anxiety. I don't like not knowing things." 

"Did you talk to your therapist about this?" Arthur feels relieved. Let a trained adult deal with this problem, not him. 

"No. I'm afraid she'll tell my mom."

"I don't think they're allowed to do that, Caleb." 

"Well I don't want to know what Dr. Jessup thinks. I want to know what _you_ think Do you have a brother?"

"I have a sister." 

"And she doesn't know about ... Eames?"

"No."

Arthur thinks about this for a minute. Wonders how Heather would react. He kind of wants to tell her right away, just to relish her reaction at him being the scandalous one for once in their lives. 

"Look ... why don't you ask your brother about it? He knows about your anxiety, so he'll understand how much it bothers you to keep a secret." 

"What if he gets mad?" 

"If he acts angry ... and he might not, but if he does, it will probably just be because he's scared. Remember that and try to be ... nice about it. I'm scared right now, just talking to you." 

"You are?"

"Definitely. ... So, are we good? Let's get you to bed."

Caleb nods and ascends the steps. He doesn't thank Arthur, but that's OK. The knowledge that he didn't totally fuck the conversation up is reward enough. 

In the morning, Arthur is bleary with exhaustion. He'd tossed and turned half the night, continually waking from dreams of saying goodbye. In one, he'd embarrassingly cried in front of everyone. In another, he'd called Eames at school, only for Eames to not remember him. In another, Ariadne had told him that she and Eames were running away together to get married, which was just an absolutely ridiculous fear for his brain to have cooked up on so many levels. 

He's still feeling a bit shaken about all this subconscious activity when Eames stops him at the door to the Mess Hall, face lined with worry. Suddenly reality snaps back into place. Right. Caleb. Eames is probably worried sick about an actual event from last night, not some silly dream. 

They walk down the path toward Saito's house, which is blocked from view of the Hall's windows. 

"What happened?" Eames asks, tense with panic. 

"It's OK," Arthur responds, trying to calm Eames with his voice. "I promise. He actually seemed really glad to have caught us, because he wanted to talk about his brother, who is probably gay. He found some dirty pictures ... it's a long story and I totally want to get your advice on how I handled it. But I don't think he's inclined to mention it to anyone other than maybe his brother, who I told him to talk to." 

"Are you sure, Arthur? I can't ... " his voice is shaking with the kind of emotion he never shows anyone. "If my parent's got involved, if they found out ... they would never let me stay here. I don't know, exactly, what they'd do to punish me, but it almost certainly would not involve paying expensive foreign-student tuition at art school ... I have this nightmare where they force me into an arranged marriage. That almost certainly would not happen, but my anxiety level about this is ... "

"Shhhh, Eames. Relax." 

Arthur doesn't even care if someone can see them. He takes Eames' hand in his own and rubs his thumb soothingly across Eames' palm. He feels grateful that while he doesn't relish the idea of telling his own parents, he at least knows they won't disown him, and simultaneously furious at Mr. and Mrs. Eames for making their son so afraid to be who he is. But that's a fight for another day. Right now he just wants to assure Eames that they're safe. 

"I really ... I got the feeling that he was just glad to have someone to talk to about his family. I don't think he'll make trouble for us. I really don't." 

Eames' eyes are closed and he's taking deep breaths. Arthur's afraid it's because he doesn't want to cry. He just squeezes Eames' hand and pretends not to have noticed when Eames opens his eyes and searches Arthur's face for disappointment. 

"I'm so bloody exhausted. I hardly slept for worrying." 

"I was in and out all night myself. Bad dreams. Let's take a nap together as soon as the kids leave. We can push two mattresses together on your floor." 

"I don't want to waste any of our final day together unconscious," Eames frowns. 

"But we'll have more fun later if we're rested. And anyway, it's not like sleeping next to you isn't a luxury. We've only gotten to do it once and we were all beaten up and freezing cold. I kind of like the idea ... " he trails off, a bit embarrassed to be so stupidly romantic about something as mundane as _sleeping_. 

Eames smiles shyly. "Well when you put it that way, I'm suddenly eager to give it a go." 

They head back down to breakfast grinning slyly at each other. But before Arthur can spoon any food onto his plate, Doug pops his head through the serving window and says, 

"Arthur, a word?"

"What's up? And can I have some food while we talk? I'm fucking famished."

"Have at it," Doug gestures toward two spare trays of English muffins and bacon, which Arthur wastes no time piling onto a spare plate. 

"I just wanted to let you know that Carl is going to be coming down to camp today for a little while to help me pack up the kitchen for the winter. I'm sure you and Eames are looking to spend a lot of time alone, but you should pop by and say hi, if you can. I'd like you to meet him." 

Arthur is flattered. To think he'd been afraid of Doug just a few weeks ago and now he feels like yet another lasting friend gained over the summer in addition to Eames and Ari and Yusuf, maybe even Mal. 

"Is it ... is it OK if I bring Eames up? I mean I totally won't if you think it's a bad idea. I don't want to ... cause any problems." 

"Yeah it's OK. I think. I mean he saw Eames at the diner that time. I told him who he was after you guys left. He's not ... he's not _happy_ that it happened, but I don't think he thinks Eames is, like, a threat. He knows it was about me being an idiot, not anything to do with actually being interested in someone else. And anyway, he wants to meet you. I think he assumes it's a package deal." 

"Yeah absolutely. I'll come up. What time, do you think? I feel like I need a whole extra day just to say goodbye. I don't know how to balance it all out."

"No offense to anyone else, but I think we'll probably leave as soon as we're done up here. Maybe about three? We only have a few days left before I go back to school and that's just more important. So just do what's right for you, long term. Don't worry about making anyone else mad. Even me, if you just can't manage to get away. I'll understand, believe me."

Right after breakfast Arthur helps herd his tearful campers up to the school buses waiting to take them to the airport or train station, hardly able to pay attention to their goodbyes, he's so eager to get to the rest of his day. 

He grabs Ari's arm as she jogs past, "hold up, can we hang out later, maybe at dinner or something? I'm going to go spend some time in Eames' cabin, but I don't want to slight you." 

"Arthur, dude, I get it. We're friends. Don't worry. No amount of ignoring me today will change that." 

"You're the best. I really haven't said that enough." 

"I know. Now _go to him_ ," she responds in an exaggerated dramatic accent. 

Arthur elbows her with a mock grimace and scans the crowd for Yusuf. 

"Dinner together?" he asks as he strides up. 

"Sure, brother. Meanwhile, maybe don't come by our cabin for a bit?"

"Yeah, OK. Just give me a sec to grab my stuff."

"No problem."

Arthur grabs the sheets off his cot and his luggage--thank god he'd already finished packing, because he probably won't be back here--and jogs down to Eames' cabin. 

He feels wary after a leering glance from Nash as they passed each other on the hill, so he insists on blocking the door with Eames' bed frame--they'll sleep on two mattresses pushed together on the floor--and using an extra blanket to cover the window. (He knows firsthand how easy it is to sneak a peak through it.) 

"What are you planning on doing in here that you're so concerned about privacy?" Eames asks, smirking. "I thought we were just having a kip."

"Well maybe a little more than sleeping." 

"How much more?" 

Arthur shrugs. 

"This much more?" Eames asks, reaching out and grabbing Arthur's hand. 

"Maybe." 

"This much more?" 

He leans forward and kisses Arthur's cheek. 

"Just a little more."

"This much?" 

He oh so gently brushes his lips against Arthur's. 

"That all you got?" 

"No. I might have a thing or two reserved." 

"Well?" Arthur arches his eyebrow in challenge. 

Eames moves like a cat, all traces of the scared, shy boy from breakfast completely gone, replaced by a sexy, confident creature on the prowl. Before Arthur knows it he's pressed up against the wall with Eames' lips attached to his neck and one of Eames' hands in his shorts. He lets himself writhe against the wall for a minute or two, before reaching to shove Eames' shorts down his thighs and return the favor. Neither lasts long, not after spending the previous night apart. They come in succession, gasping into each other's mouths. 

Afterward, they lie down on the mattresses, legs entangled and Arthur's palm resting on Eames' bare stomach. Arthur thinks about how Eames has gotten smaller since camp started--less beefcake bruiser and more svelte art student. Eames had told Arthur that he'd joined the boxing team at school to learn how to fight, just in case he'd been outed and had needed to defend himself. Arthur liked the muscles, but he thinks this new sleeker look is hot, too. And he's happy that Eames doesn't feel like he's in physical danger for being himself anymore. He drifts off wondering what Eames will look like if and when they manage to see each other this Fall ...

Arthur wakes feeling loose and refreshed. He's spooned behind Eames, who is still asleep and pliant in his arms, despite Arthur's erection pressing into the small of his back. He rollshis hips forward a bit, to see if Eames stirs. But he's dead to the world. 

Arthur lets him sleep, savoring the quiet moment between them, when nothing needs to be said or defined. Poor Eames must have really not slept at all the night before. 

But after a while he gets impatient. Luckily he's able to imagine a way he should be able to wake Eames up without complaint. 

Hopefully. 

He gently peels himself away from Eames' back and kneels over his legs. It takes what feels like ages to slowly, slowly slide Eames' shorts and jockeys down, but he doesn't want to risk waking him early, not until he can get his mouth on Eames' dick. Finally it springs free, half-hard already, and Arthur leans forward to suck it down. 

He doesn't move at first, just watches as a flush spreads up Eames' bare chest and feels Eames' breathing pick up. As Eames' dick hardens in Arthur's mouth, he starts making little whimpering noises. Arthur wonders if Eames is dreaming about this. 

He lets his lips slide up and down minutely. Then suddenly Eames gasps and sits halfway upright, eyes flying open. Arthur looks up through his lashes, trying his best for seductive. 

"Fucking hell, Arthur!" Eames gasps. Then he's pulling at the shoulders of Arthur's shirt. "Get up here."

Arthur doesn't need to be asked twice. 

They get lost in kissing. Rolling around on the mattresses like they've never had the freedom to do before, grinding against each other with abandon, as if there isn't anything else but this slide of body against body, tongue against tongue. Arthur feels dizzy with the space, the privacy. He doesn't even care if they do anything else but this right now, because it's intoxicating. 

But Eames obviously feels differently, because he rolls away. 

"Wait, wait. I want to try something," he pants. 

"OK." 

"It's ... it's just," he's blushing and Arthur's interest in piqued. 

"What? Tell me," he cajoles. 

"I want you to ... and I want to ... at the same time," he's totally red in the face and fumbling to tug off Arthur's shorts. 

"Like earlier?" Arthur asks.

"No ... not hands, I want to ... with our mouths." 

Comprehension dawns on Arthur. He doesn't know why Eames is embarrassed to name it, but now he is too. 

"Yeah OK. I know what you mean." 

Relief floods Eames' face. 

"How should we ... ?" he trails off, gesturing with his hands to suggest movements. 

"Here, like this. You're smaller," Eames pulls Arthur on top of him. "Now just rotate around, I suppose."

Once they're both naked, it's clumsy and awkward to crawl over Eames' body and then sort of crouch there. Arthur's starting to wonder if this is a good idea at all. But then Eames licks a stripe up his dick and Arthur sort of stops caring about anything else. For a minute, he just sort of kneels there enjoying this new angle of suction from Eames' mouth, and then he realizes that he's supposed to be responding in kind. He sucks Eames into his throat as far as he can manage and nearly comes on the spot from the vibrations Eames' moan send shooting through his body.

"Oh fuck! That's amazing!"

"I have the best ideas." 

"You do," Arthur responds and licks a swirl around Eames' foreskin. 

Eames mimics him on Arthur's uncut head. So Arthur licks a stripe up Eames' shaft and Eames does the same to him. They turn it into a game, Arthur performing a succession of licks and kisses and tiny sucking motions, and Eames doing the exact same right back, in the same order. It's like Simon, only way, way more fun. They're half giggling, half panting and Arthur just can't believe that this is even real. Eames is right there with him mixing sex and silliness and it's perfect. 

Before he can do something stupid like say that thought out loud, Arthur opens wide and sucks Eames down as hard as he can, groaning so Eames can feel what he did earlier. 

Then everything turns sloppy and wet and overwhelming really fast. Arthur is losing himself to sensation, trying his best to keep his mouth working as his mind floats away at the feeling of Eames' ministrations. 

Then suddenly Eames stops and is and pushing Arthur's hips up and away from him. He's coughing. 

"Oh fuck! Eames I'm so sorry." 

Arthur attempts to scramble back around, to check on Eames. He must have started thrusting his hips down into Eames' mouth without realizing.

"I'm such an asshole. Are you OK?"

Eames nods, touching Arthur's waist gently. 

"We should stop," Arthur says, chagrined. 

"Don't be ridiculous. Just .. perhaps be a bit careful with me."

"I'm so sorry." 

"No! Don't be. I wish I were better ... I wish I knew how to just take it for you." 

Arthur is roiled with a mixture of guilt and lust at those words. He groans. 

"I don't want to hurt you." 

"I'll stop you if you do. Come on, let's get back to it. I was so close." 

Arthur feels awkward all over again turning back around. But he doesn't hesitate this time to get right to work, trying to bring Eames to orgasm as quickly as he can. He's concentrating so hard on not moving his hips that he doesn't quite get as lost in it as he was before. But it still feels amazing. And anyway, that probably means he's doing a better job for Eames now, which he definitely owes him after choking him half to death. 

It only takes a couple of minutes and Eames is coming, grasping Arthur's thigh in warning. It's hard to get the angle right to swallow and Arthur makes a bit of a mess. But he doesn't have time to think about it, because Eames is almost immediately wrapping a hand around Arthur's dick to help increase the friction and bringing Arthur off like he was made to do it.

Afterward, they lie side by side, Eames playing idly with Arthur's fingers. Arthur is sleepy again, but every time he starts to drift off, he feels the need to apologize yet _again_ for being so inconsiderate. 

"Arthur, darling, stop fretting," Eames says. His voice is still blissed out and relaxed. He moves his arm, so his fingers are carding through Arthur's hair instead. It feels so good. Arthur's eyes close of their own accord and he lets go of his guilt. If they ever get a chance to do that again, Arthur will be better. He'll make Eames be on top. He'll never be selfish again ... 

He wakes with a jolt, disoriented. Checking his watch, he rolls off the mattress. 

"Eames, I'm gonna go say goodbye to Doug. You wanna come? Carl's helping him pack up the kitchen for winter." 

Eames looks up at him muzzily. 

"Do you think it's all right?"

Arthur shrugs.

"He said it was OK. He would know ... probably." 

It turns out that Carl is a little sullen at first and Eames hangs back, deferential. But Arthur and Doug just keep up a stream of chatter and soon enough Carl's relaxed and talking about his hopes of going to culinary school one day. 

As soon as Eames senses that he's no longer considered a threat, he jumps into the conversation with the kind of social genius that only he can pull off quite so well. By the time they've finished devouring the sandwiches and cookies Carl brought along, Eames is even making jokes about Doug being a lightweight and Carl is _joining in_. Arthur doesn't know how Eames does it. 

After exchanging email addresses and cell phone numbers, they hug Doug and Carl goodbye (seriously Carl and Eames hug) and stroll hand-in-hand down toward the lake. Somehow wading turns into full-on swimming in their shorts and underwear, not wanting to take time to go back to the cabin and dig out their bathing suits. 

"Remember when you held me against the raft with your legs while I jerked us off with my hands?" Arthur whispers. 

"How could I forget it?"

"I think that was the sexiest thing that's even happened to me."

Eames grins, eyes sparkling. Arthur can see how pleased he is by the compliment. It inspires him to keep going. 

He realizes that in his fear of talking too much about his feelings, he probably hasn't told Eames nearly often enough just how lucky he is to have him, if only for a few hours more.

"I mean, the whole list of all the hottest things in my life would be about you. But I think that might be the top of the list. Well either that or what we did earlier. That might have won if I hadn't been such a jackass ... "

Eames opens his mouth to object, but Arthur plows ahead. 

"I don't know something about you holding us in place like that, and me working both of us at the same time ... it just ... did things to me."

Eames practically growls and wraps his arms around Arthur. Of course, they're treading water this time, so rather than turning into a reenactment, it somehow morphs into a game of dunking each other and splashing. Eventually they've horseplayed themselves halfway around the lake to by the boat dock. 

"Do you think we could get off in a canoe?" Eames asks.

Arthur frowns, considering. 

"Not without someone seeing. I don't think." 

"Pity. I always fancied shagging in a punt ... or something similar."

Arthur lifts himself to look over the side of the nearest canoe. It's wet and sandy and probably full of bugs. 

"Gross." 

He wrinkles his nose.

But Eames pouts with such a fat lip that he rolls his eyes and heaves himself into the canoe anyway. 

"There's that shady spot over by the archery course. We can row over there and give it a try. I'd hate to leave you unfulfilled at the end of the summer."

Of course, it's kind of a disaster. 

Arthur refuses to lie in the bottom of the canoe and tries to straddle Eames' lap on one of the seats. But by the time Eames is working their dicks with both hands, Arthur is wriggling around so much that they very nearly tip over. 

Laughing, Eames pushes him back to sit on the other bench, and kneels at Arthur's feet on the sandy bottom. Arthur tries to object, but Eames shuts him up quickly. Somehow he manages to suck Arthur's dick and bring himself off into his own hand at the same time without rocking the boat too hard, despite Arthur's shuddering hold on the sides of the canoe. 

"I feel like that ought to have been the other way around, this being your fantasy and all. I'm winning the 'inconsiderate boyfriend' award today."

"Nonsense. It was exactly perfect. And you are the most perfect boyfriend I could imagine. And believe me, I've done a lot of imagining."

By the time they make their way back to shore, Yusuf and Taryn have surfaced from the cabin and are wading on the beach. 

"I'm famished," Yusuf calls to them as they park the canoe. "I hope you two are ready for dinner." 

Arthur isn't that hungry after Carl's sandwiches, but he's happy to grab a couple pizza boxes from the stacks of them that Dom and Mal have set up in the Mess and follow Yusuf to the oak tree where Ari and Robert are waiting. Arthur half-heartedly wonders where they spent the afternoon, since they neither has a private room in which to hid out. He supposes it's not really his business, unless Ari wants to tell him. 

Somehow, despite not being hungry, he finds room for two slices of pizza and enough beers that he feels comfortable singing along with the group as Ari plays. His face is flushed, his hair is a mess, his shorts are still a bit damp. But he's the happiest he's ever been sitting there with Eames leaning against him, belting out cheesy song after cheesy song without shame. 

It's well after dark and Arthur is well into being drunk when they make their way back down to Eames' cabin. Arthur expects Eames to pounce on him again. But instead Eames just beckons him to lie down and rest his head on Eames' chest. 

"I can't thank you enough, Arthur. This has been the best summer of my life."

Arthur tilts his head up, so they can just glimpse each other's eyes. 

"Mine too. Do you think you'll come back next year? Saito offered me the tennis counseling position." 

"I might do. Depends on ... well on what it would be like to see you again."

Arthur understands the sentiment. If they pull this off; if they stay boyfriends or even some kind of friends with benefits,then he'd love to come back for a second summer. But if they can't make it work, then being here without Eames, or with Eames but not together, well it would be too painful. Even if they were to stay friends, but Eames were dating someone else from school, it would be excruciating. 

Arthur has told himself over and over again that as long as they're honest with each other, he can handle anything. But being here, where it all started, with Eames and not being together with Eames; it would just be too much. Whatever else changes between them, he wants Camp Evergreen to stay pure in his memory. 

"I guess we'll find out this Fall," he says. 

"Arthur, I ..."

"Shhhh ... we've worked it all out. Let's not open all that up again." He nuzzles under Eames' arm and tightens his arms until he feels Eames relax. 

They fall asleep wrapped around each other, not quite content, but not unhappy, either.

Arthur wakes up with the dawn, once again hard and pressing his dick into Eames' back. This time, though, Eames is awake and rubbing his bare skin against Arthur's tented boxers. As soon as Arthur groans, he turns and pushes Arthur down into the mattress. 

"I taste terrible," Arthur says, turning his head away, not wanting their last real kisses to be reminiscent of hangover breath.

"I don't give a fuck," Eames replies and kisses Arthur's neck as he rolls his hips over and over. 

Arthur, pushes up, rubbing himself shamelessly against Eames, running his hands up and down Eames' back. Eames is panting and muttering between sucking on Arthur's neck and biting his ears. 

"I want ... I need ... Arthur ... you ... I ... Arthur ... " his voice is shaking. 

He rolls them over, so that Arthur is pressing down against Eames, who is clutching his shoulders. Arthur can feels Eames' hands shaking against his body. He's never seen Eames lose it quite so spectacularly, and just from rubbing against each other in their underwear, too. When Eames comes, he presses his hands over his face and breathes wetly, still trembling. Arthur thrusts downward a few times and follows him over the edge, collapsing and wrapping his arms around Eames in the tightest hug he can imagine. It's the perfectly imperfect last encounter, too emotional to be much more than sloppy and quick. 

They skip breakfast. Eames stays tangled together with Arthur on their makeshif bed, silent but is clearly agitated. Every once in a while he flutters his hands in the air or presses his face to Arthur's shoulder. When Arthur pushes Eames back, so he can see his face, he looks on the verge of tears, biting his lip and refusing to meet Arthur's eyes. 

"Just ... just don't forget me, Arthur." 

"I could never. I promise." 

He wants to tell Eames it's OK to cry, but he knows he would follow suit and he just can't let himself tip over that edge. Who knows what foolish thing he'll do or say if he indulges this moment too much. 

"Please don't think ... " his voice breaks. "Don't think that my rules mean this isn't important to me. If it weren't, I wouldn't make them." 

Eames nods, eyes wide and doe-like. 

They lie quietly entwined, Arthur stroking Eames' back lightly with one hand over and over in a circular motion, unable to talk, unable to break apart, until Dom rings the bell to board the bus. It's agony, but there's no way to lessen it. They just have to push through to the other side of this pain. 

Before Arthur can bend over to pick up his bags, Eames grabs him roughly and mashes their lips together, hard enough to hurt a little. Arthur pulls back and leans his forehead against Eames', trying to calm the situation. 

He's overcome with the compulsion to make it all better, but he doesn't know how. He can't change their agreement and put Eames at risk of regretting it down the road, not when they worked so hard to reach this peace. He can't say how he really feels. All he can do is bring his hands up to the side of Eames' face and whispers, "it's going to be OK. I don't know how, but I know we can make it OK. I believe that we can do anything, if we just ... stay true to our agreement, to ourselves." 

It's not hardly everything he wants to blurt out, but it seems to calm Eames, who relaxes his grip on Arthur's shoulders and lets them separate to grab their luggage. 

The trudge up the hill is agony. Arthur can't stop dwelling on the fact that every step brings them one closer to the one where they'll be getting on separate buses--one bound for the airport, one for the train station--and won't see each other again until at least December. Who knows what could happen between then and now? He just has to hang on to his determination that they're doing the right thing, cling to his memories of the perfect day they'd shared yesterday. 

He's hardly aware of the other counselors milling around them when they arrive at the driveway. How long ago that game of two truths and a lie--played on the grassy field just to his left--feels today. What would Eames say if he asked to play one last round now? 

Before he can suggest it, Eames drops his bags and turns to Arthur. His eyes are shining with tears he can't hide anymore. 

"Goodbye darling," he says, voice cracking. "I don't know which way is up at the moment. But I shall trust you to know the right thing to do and will follow your lead." 

And then he's kissing Arthur roughly, right there in front of everyone, lingering morning breath be damned. Arthur loses his grip on his duffel and and melts into the kiss, until he's pulled out of the moment by whistles and cat calls. Eames gives Arthur one final squeeze and marches straight to the back of the bus, face warning anyone against trying to approach him. 

Arthur's heart is heavy and he's toying with the idea of hating himself when a sobbing Ari barrels into his side. It's the perfect distraction. He busies himself with getting her on the bus, along with all of their bags, and then lets her weep openly against his shoulder. By the time they hit the highway, she's quieted to sniffles. By the time they pull up to the train station, she's chattering away about her plans to visit Robert during Fall break and wondering whether she could come to one of Arthur's tennis matches.

Arthur is in a decidedly better mood by the time he boards the train for Pittsburgh. He misses Eames terribly already, but he's regained confidence that their plan to separate for the Fall is a solid one. He's going to concentrate on his final tennis season and his college applications and his grades for the last semester of high school that matters for his transcripts. That's the best way to ensure that he ends up in Chicago next year. When he emerges in December, he'll be ready to deal with whatever Eames wants, or doesn't want, from him. That's all there is to it. 

He's expecting his mother at the curb when he emerges from the station. He's sure she'll fuss over him. He'd never showered after the swim the previous afternoon and is probably very obviously hungover with circles under his eyes and un-gelled hair. But it's Heather who's waiting for him, leaning against the car smoking a cigarette and looking as effortlessly cool as ever. Her eyes rake over him, surprised at his disheveled state. 

"You look like Hell," she intones, stubbing out the smoke under the toe of her sandal. "Has my baby brother finally discovered how to cut loose?"

He shrugs, trying for nonchalant. Then he suddenly remembers the conversation with Caleb two nights previous. He wants to give Heather the shock of her life, finally convince her that he hasn't been scared into meekness by living in the aftermath of her own monster rebellion.

"What are you doing home?"

"I start student teaching in two weeks. Taking a much-needed rest after summer school. You're big sis is officially a college graduate, Artie. Never thought you'd see the day, did you?"

He snorts. Unwilling to either acknowledge her self depreciation or give her the validation of objecting to it. 

Once they're belted in and on the road, she turns to him and asks the question. Usually he dreads it, but this time, he's eager, hardly able to wait until she conforms to her own pattern. 

"So, baby brother, does this new party animal side of you mean you finally got a girlfriend?"

"No," he says and watches her reaction--part disappointment, part resignation. "But I did have a boyfriend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a sequel to this. I have all three chapters fully outlined already. I wanted to have the first ready to go at the same time as this, but I couldn't wait any longer. 
> 
> All angst will be fixed and happy endings will abound. I promise.


End file.
